


If You Could Be My Wishing Star

by IrishNamesandPaperPlanes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, shooting star au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-10-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 34,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishNamesandPaperPlanes/pseuds/IrishNamesandPaperPlanes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s life is never quite the same after a boy falls from the sky and offers him a wish. <i>“I’m a shooting star,” he beams, “would you like to make a wish on me?”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strawberryfinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberryfinn/gifts).



“Harry. Get up, get up, get up!” Louis yells as he bounces on the bed, knees knocking into Harry’s sides and fingers pulling at the sleeping boy’s arms. 

“Go away,” Harry groans, rolling over and shoving his face into his pillow. He’s just managed to get the covers pulled up over his head, limbs lethargic with sleep, when Louis snatches them away. 

“Come on, Harry,” Louis whines, grabbing his ankles and dragging him down the length of the bed. He easily avoids the other boy’s defensive kicks and gives a hard tug until the curly haired boy is falling to the floor with a gasp. Louis peers down at him with crinkled blue eyes, hands on his knees and cinnamon hair framing his face. “What are you doing locked away in here anyway?” 

Green eyes glare through a nest of messy curls, Harry’s lips turned down into a frown that’s really more of a pout and does little to deter his friend. “Sleeping, what the fuck does it look like?” 

Louis considers him for a moment – Harry would like to think that maybe he’s thinking about _how little sleep Harry’s gotten over the last week_ and _how many all nighters he’s pulled to pass his exams_ – before shaking his head.

“You are aware that there’s a party going on literally on room over, yeah?” he looks down at him, disapproval written in his clear blue eyes.

Harry blinks, head turning sluggishly to his bedroom door and finally taking note of the pounding bass that is vibrating his floorboards. _How the hell had he slept through that?_

Taking a breath, he wriggles his way back into his bed, burrowing back under the covers and turning his back to his friend. “Please, Lou,” he begs, voice groggy, “I’m tired. Just let me sleep. This is the third party this month.” 

“No, you have to get up. It’ll be fun, I promise,” Louis says, once again ripping the covers from Harry’s body.

Harry rolls over and gives his best pleading eyes. “But I don’t want to.” 

“Come on, Harry, for me?” Louis asks, linked fingers pressed firmly under his chin, a small hopeful smile lighting his face. And although it would appear that Louis is immune to Harry’s puppy eyes, the curly haired boy can’t say the same when it comes to those sad baby blues. 

“Fine,” he grumbles, swinging out of bed and staggering to the door. He makes sure to grumble under his breath along the way just to let Louis knows how much he _hates this._

“Woah, woah.” Louis jumps in front of him, pressing a firm hand to his chest to stop him. “You’re not going out like that, are you?”

Harry glances down at himself, green eyes taking in the dark jeans and black Ramones shirt. Sure it’s a little wrinkled from sleeping in it, but he hardly thinks a kegger in his living room calls for anything that requires ironing. 

“What wrong with what I’ve got on?”

“It just kinda says that you don’t give a fuck.” Louis shrugs, fingers firm where he grips into Harry’s shoulder as he steers him back toward his closet. 

“Because I _don’t_ ,” Harry sighs, managing to squirm away when Louis tries to fix his unruly curls with his own _spit_. 

“Well girls like guys who put a little effort into how they look,” Louis says, even going so far as to roll his eyes because _obviously_. “Just look at Zayn. He spends at least forty minutes a day on his hair and he’s got birds swarming him.” 

Louis slings a grey button down at Harry who puts it on, _rather begrudgingly_ , after a pointed look.

“I thought that was a byproduct of his ‘badass, strong but silent’ persona,” Harry mumbles, struggling a bit because the shirt is so tight. Harry finally manages to button the damned thing when he notices Louis rooting around through his drawers; clearly his choice in trousers is also insufficient. “Not that he’s actually like that at all.”

“Zayn’s just shy, you know that,” Louis answers, distracted, as he slings jeans around the room, grinning brightly when he finds the right pair. Harry doesn’t even think Louis notices his death glare as he stuffs his legs into the approved jeans. “Right, so let’s go have some fun.” 

Harry isn’t able to get another word in before Louis is dragging him out of the room, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he weaves through the crowds, smiling and waving and being the all around social person that Harry isn’t. 

The common room is packed with people, all milling about and gathering in clusters in the small kitchenette and dining space and crowding around the tele. Harry manages to catch a glimpse of a football game displayed in bright colors across the screen before Louis’ hand on his wrist tugs him further into the swarming masses.

It’s impossibly loud and hot with body heat and Harry wonders how it’s possible that he was assigned the party dorm when he had checked the box for _‘requires a quiet study environment’_ when applying for the dorms. Next thing he knows, Louis’ shoving a beer in his hand – the foamy beverage sloshing over the edge of the red plastic cup and onto his hand – and they’re sprinting up the stairs. 

He’s spilled nearly all of his drink by the time they stop, but doesn’t bother mentioning it since he doesn’t really care. Louis can never remember that he doesn’t like beer. 

They push into an apartment, literally shoving people out of the way in order to reach the kitchen, and by the time they make it to the counter Harry’s pretty sure he’s participating in some new experiment on social boundaries. 

Louis turns to a pretty girl that Harry doesn’t know and shouts over the music, “Have you seen Eleanor?” The girl points a lithe finger further into the room and Harry’s just about dreading yet another trip through his own personal circle of hell when Louis turns to him and shouts that he’ll be right back. 

Harry stays in the kitchen, eyes downcast and hunched over the counter, not really sure what to do with himself other than pick up one of the many colorful cocktails littering the surface and drink. 

He picks one that’s shockingly purple and finds that it’s actually not half bad – tastes like pineapple. 

He’s three drinks in and feeling a little better about everything when Perrie, a blonde he knows both from living in the same building and from chemistry, slinks her way into the kitchen. He gives her a crooked smile and figures he must be at least a little drunk because he’s actually considering asking her to dance. 

“Hey,” she calls, pulling a carton of orange juice from the fridge and giving it a good shake. “You like those?” she nods her head to the nearly empty drink in Harry’s hands. “It’s a new recipe I’m trying out.” 

He nods, downing the remainder of his drink and holding his cup out to her with an unsteady hand. There’s a smile tilting his lips that he hopes reads _‘more, please’_ and it must because she takes the glass with a laugh and pulls out a carton of pineapple juice. 

“Have you seen Louis?” he yells in her ear, maybe a bit too loudly judging from the annoyed look she shoots him before nodding in the direction of the living room. Harry peers over, having to use the counter for leverage despite his height to see over the heads of the crowd. 

He spots Louis near the coffee table, the Doncaster boy doing some kind of drunken tango with Eleanor. Harry’s happy because Louis never shuts up about her and it’s good to see that he’s finally making a move, but also annoyed because Louis had promised to be right back and that had been thirty minutes and four drinks ago. 

Perrie hops up onto the counter next to him; her own eyes follow his gaze and watching the dancing couple with interest. “Hey,” she calls out over the music, catching his attention as she blinks up at him through long, black lashes, “I’ve been meaning to ask, is it true that Louis kissed Liam on his first day here?” 

Harry falls into a drunken chuckle, eyes squeezed shut and dimples on full display. He even spills a bit of his drink on the blonde who, thankfully, is too amused to really care. 

“He said it was his way of making an impression,” he gets out around his giggles, fingers hovering over his lips in a weak attempt to get his laughter under control. “So we wouldn’t forget his name. He even tried to go for Zayn next.” 

They share a laugh – and a drink – and Harry does end up asking her to dance. They only get about ten seconds in to it before Harry regrets his decision – it’s hot and sweaty and loud and there are _way too many_ people pressing up against him. 

He’s actually relieved when Perrie is dragged off by her friends and he’s able to slip out to the stairs and back to his own dorm (he gives her a quick good bye and tells her to let Louis know that he went back down before leaving).

His own apartment is no less crowded than it was before, but it is noticeably quieter, despite the occasional uproar from the group huddled around the tele. Apparently his common room has become the official ‘game room’ of this week’s party. 

He stumbles his way into the kitchen where he finds Liam, the brunette nursing what he safely assumes is just a coke. Harry sidles up beside him, laying his head on Liam’s shoulder and trying to act defenseless because taking care of people is Liam’s weakness – though he doesn’t really have to act all that hard because he is feeling a little sick and holding his head up is too much effort. 

“I’m tired, make everyone leave.” 

Liam chuckles, face scrunching up softly as he slings an arm over Harry’s shoulder and guides him to a chair. “I can’t just kick everyone out, Harry. It’s a party, try and have some fun.” 

“I don’t want to have fun.” Harry scowls, arms crossed defiantly over his chest, feeling a bit bitter that Liam hadn’t jumped to his rescue. Liam gives him an endearing smile and ruffles his hair before joining the boys by the tele, leaving Harry to himself. 

Harry spends what he thinks must be at least an hour just sitting there, green eyes downcast and long fingers twirling the hem of his shirt. Every so often people will stop and want to chat but more often than not he doesn’t have a clue who they are and he really can’t be bothered to try and remember. 

He’s just about dozed off – despite all the screaming and cheering and stamping from the peanut gallery – when he’s yanked onto his feet. His eyes blink open in surprise just in time to see Zayn smiling at him. 

The tan boy hoists him over his shoulder easily (which is actually quite impressive since Harry’s a good few inches taller and Zayn’s thin as a freaking whisp) and runs out the door, long legs carrying them smoothly through the crowds. He makes his way down three floors before bursting out onto the street. He’s barely got a grip on the curly haired boy (who had started squirming two floors ago) and finally just lets him drop onto the pavement. 

“Hey,” Harry protests, scrambling up and rubbing a hand over his sore bum. _That’s probably going to bruise_. “What was that for?” 

Zayn shrugs and smiles – that wacky, excited smile that he really only shows his friends (and it’s then that Harry realizes he won’t be able to stay mad at him and resigns himself to reluctant forgiveness). “You looked like you were about to fall asleep. Figured I’d get you outside for some fresh air.” He’s got a cigarette out now and Harry quirks a brow at Zayn’s idea of fresh air. 

They stay outside for a good while, shoulders hunched against the cold and backs pressed to the brick façade of their building, just talking and joking around. Harry enjoys himself more out here where it’s just the two of them and is just thinking that maybe the night is salvageable when someone starts yelling at Zayn from the fire escape – something about kegstands and beer pong and the possibilities of a wet t-shirt contest. 

Zayn grinds his fag beneath his heel, an apologetic, dopey smile curving his lips, and drags an only slightly belligerent Harry back into the building. 

They make it all the way to the eighth floor (Harry huffing and puffing because the most exercise he’s gotten lately is lifting his textbooks) and have barely squeezed through the door when Zayn is dragged away and coerced into a game of beer pong. 

Harry loiters in the back for a while, tucked into a dark corner where he can watch from afar before deciding that he’s bored and pushes his way back out of the apartment. 

He spends a stupidly large amount of time just standing in the hall – he didn’t really plan anything farther than the hallway – before deciding to head to the roof. It’s usually unlocked, but it’s gravely and small and filled with loud air and heating units so no one really likes it. On his way up the stairs he remembers that it’s a bit cold outside so he swipes one of the jackets littering the stairway – it’s a bit big, but he figures it’ll do. 

The roof is surprisingly quiet, only the occasional holler reaching his ears and the music from below a quiet buzzing over the hum of the heaters. He settles onto his back, green eyes trailing to the sky and searching for stars. The skies in London are always relatively starless, unlike the skies back in Cheshire – Harry had always been able to see the stars there, even from his bedroom window. 

A sigh escapes his lips, a small puff of mist floating briefly before his eyes, as he thinks of his hometown: small, simple, boring Cheshire. Even as a child he had wanted out, wanted to go somewhere exciting and have adventures and meet people that he would actually find interesting. 

When he had been accepted to university in London, he thought that maybe that was the change that his life needed. But now, instead of being boring Harry in boring Cheshire, he’s just boring Harry in London. 

Just like when he was a child, wrapped up in a blanket and gazing longingly out the window above his bed, he still finds himself wishing for _more_.

He’s just finishing counting the stars – a grand total of seven in the bright London lights – when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a shooting star streaking across the sky. 

It’s absolutely brilliant: all white and blue and leaving behind a trail of violets and oranges. A stark contrast to the dull, dark sky, it glows beautifully, a twinkling shimmer showing the arch it takes across the sky.

His breath catches in his throat as he watches it, following its descent. He’s sitting up now, eyes wide as he marvels at how the burning grows brighter before it’s streaking through the air to his left – it’s glow so bright that he has to close his eyes against it – and landing in the park two blocks over. He squints through dark lashes in time to see an iridescent light amongst the trees spark out into darkness.

Harry is on his feet before he realizes and is hurling himself down the fire escape, feet pounding hard against the metal stairs, shoes slipping on the omnipresent layer of moisture that overtakes every London night. 

It’s late, long past midnight, and he doubts that anyone is in the park, but he can’t seem to slow himself down. He doesn’t want to miss this – whatever _this_ is – because maybe this is what he’s been wishing for. Maybe this is what will finally sever the monotony of his life. 

He’s in the park and swerving through the trees in record time, breath ragged as he stumbles through the dark. He slows down to a near stop when he comes to a small clearing, green eyes landing on a naked blonde boy sitting on the grass. He’s leaning heavily on his hands, his feet planted firmly on the ground and his knees drawn up awkwardly, like he’s not entirely sure what to do with his limbs. 

Harry would ignore him, as he usually does – push him off as some drunk and lost partygoer – if it weren’t for the way he boy’s blonde hair is flowing and the way his skin shimmers with swirling shades of blues and oranges and violets – clearly not a lost partygoer, clearly not _human_. 

The boy turns and blinks at him with brilliant, unearthly blue eyes and despite the fact that this is everything he wanted – adventure, excitement, intrigue – Harry has the sudden urge to run. 

Steeling his nerves, he approaches the boy– slowly, cautiously – and the closer he gets the more in awe he is. Harry had read fairytales when he was younger, stories about sirens and merefolk who could lure you in, convince you to willingly give yourself to them, and wonders if perhaps this boy is something like them. It would explain the way that his fingers unfurl from the tight fists they had curled themselves in to, how the line of his shoulders loosens with ease. 

He considers briefly that perhaps it’s the boy’s smile that does it – a smile that shines with starlight and casts a vibrant glow on the dewy grass, the light refracting and casting a sea of glittering diamonds around Harry’s feet. 

He’s barely able to catch his own breath, voice no more than a whisper as he stops, his tall figure towering high, the toes of his shoes mere inches from the boy’s small right hand. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Niall,” the boy speaks, voice coated in a lilting, musical accent that sends waves of warmth down Harry’s spine to pool in his toes. 

Harry shakes his head, curls flying, before licking his lips and asking again, amending his previous statement. “No, sorry, _what_ are you?”

Niall takes a moment to consider his answer, head tilting and golden locks falling into his eyes. “I’m a shooting star,” he beams, “would you like to make a wish on me?” 

\--x--

It’s late – or is it early? – by the time Harry manages to move again. (He’s been hovering over the boy for a good while now, though the _alien_ doesn’t seem to mind too much). 

He shuffles his feet as he moves, nervous and still a bit cautious, stopping once he’s standing in front of the blonde, his back turned to the dusty orange of the impending sunrise. 

He knows he should say something – though he doesn’t know what, because, _really, what do you say in this kind of situation_ – but is saved the trouble because it’s Niall who speaks first. 

“What’s your name?” Niall asks, head tilted and eyes peering up at him through long, dusty lashes. He runs his fingers through the grass – an action he’s been doing for a while now – and waits patiently while Harry chokes out an apology. 

“Oh, um, I’m – I’m sorry. That was rude of me. I’m Harry,” he says, voice cracking (whether from fatigue or nerves or because he’s talking to someone _from space_ , he’s not sure). 

“Harry,” Niall mutters, rolling the name across his tongue, testing how it fits between his lips. Harry ignores the way it makes his heart stutter. “I like it.”

Harry thinks he may be blushing – he can feel the heat raising in his cheeks and creeping over the tips of his ears – but brushes it off with a shake of his head.

He sits, cross-legged, onto the grass, knees occasionally brushing at the other boy’s ankles when he shifts. 

“So, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but, why are you here?” Niall blinks at him and Harry stutters, clarifying, “On Earth, I mean. This isn’t some kind of invasion, is it?” He gives a weak laugh that’s really more nerves than anything else. 

His own faint chuckles peter out when Niall laughs, an enchanted crystalline sound that leaves the brunette’s ears ringing, his blonde hair swaying when he shakes his head. “Just visiting.”

Harry thinks he shouldn’t trust him – if he was planning on an invasion, _would he really tell him?_ – but nods along anyway. 

Harry wonders vaguely if he should leave, head back to the dorm and forget this ever happened. Because Harry’s use to an easy, boring life – even if he hates it – and finds himself oddly reluctant to give it up. He startles when Niall speaks again, face much closer and those alien, hypnotic eyes shining bright. 

“Is it normal for humans to stay up until the sun returns?” he asks, gaze flickering over Harry’s shoulder to where the sun is just coming over the horizon. 

“Oh,” Harry casts a glance back, momentarily distracted by the pink of the sky, “no, I should probably be getting home.” And before he can think better of it, he’s asking, “Would you like to come with me?” 

A squawk slips past Harry’s lips when Niall launches himself at the curly haired boy, limbs clumsy and smile bright as he encases him in a full-body hug, and Harry takes that as a yes. Harry tries his absolute hardest to not think of how incredibly naked the blonde is when he grips at his sides, pushing him off gently. (He also doesn’t think of how smooth and warm his skin is)

“It’s not too far of a walk to my place,” he says, stumbling to his feet, thumb jerking back the way he’d come. “We should be able to get back without anyone, uh, noticing.” He walks a few steps and waits a beat for Niall to start following, but the blonde only watches him. “Uh, are you coming?” 

Niall shakes his head, hands gesturing vaguely to his legs. “I don’t know how to use these.” He scrunches his nose as he eyes them, head tilted rather adorably to the side. “They’re different from what I’m used to.” He pauses for a moment and wiggles his legs, feet slipping through the grass, considering. “This whole body is quite awkward. It’s weird.” 

Harry looks down at his own legs, not entirely sure what to say before striding back over to the boy. “Hands.” He holds out his own hands, palms up in offering. Niall only blinks confusedly at him. Sighing – because really, what is his life? – Harry reaches down and snatches the blonde’s hands, yanking and hauling him to his feet without another word. 

Niall stumbles, knees buckling under him, and Harry has to grab him around the waist to keep him upright. They fumble through a few steps, Harry trying awkward to teach him how to go from one step to the next, before Niall collapses back to the ground, legs folded under him and a pout pushing at his pink lips. 

Making up his mind quickly – it is getting rather late and people are going to be getting up soon – he shrugs off his jacket and holds it out, trying his best not to look too embarrassed. (Niall might not pick up on the rather cliché gesture, but it certainly doesn’t go over Harry’s head)

“Here, put this on.” And he doesn’t hesitate to help the blonde through it; fingers light as he grabs at warm, shimmering skin. He buttons all the buttons and even cinches the belt around the boy’s thin waist, ignoring what he is assuming to be residual stardust slipping off of pale skin. 

(Niall’s almost no help through the entire process but Harry decides not to hold it against him.)

He turns, crouched in front of the blonde, and peers at him over his shoulder, head inclined. “Come on, then. Climb on.” There’s a lot of shuffling and even a few curses when Niall tugs at his curls, but eventually he’s got pale arms looped around his shoulders and he’s gripping on to smooth legs and he really just wants to get home and sleep because, honestly – aliens aside – it’s been a really long day. 

Harry takes as many out of the way, sketchy alleys as he can to get home (he realizes how creepy he must look, but would really rather avoid as many people as possible since Niall is still faintly glowing and half naked).

By the time they reach his building, Harry’s legs are shaking and he’s got a stitch in his side – for being so tiny, Niall’s really heavy. He barely makes it up to his room, stepping extra carefully once he’s in the common room, weary of his roommates, and nearly collapses on his bed, Niall squeaking quietly on his back. 

He rolls over, burying his face in his pillow and feeling the exhaustion pulling at every muscle. He feels Niall wiggle up the bed next to him, curling up at his side, but can’t keep his eyes open long enough to really look at him.

“Don’t leave the room,” he mumbles, voice heavy with sleep. 

It’s a while before Niall answers and Harry barely hears him as his mind fogs over with dreams. “Good night, Harry.” 

\--x--

When Harry wakes the next morning, it’s from dreams of aliens with blonde hair and unnatural eyes. He almost smiles (his dreams are usually rather boring and feature toast or late maths work) but freezes when he blinks his eyes open and sees his room an absolute mess and Niall crouching by his dresser, elbows deep in his drawer as he flings things about.

Harry doesn’t do anything embarrassing – like scream or fall off his bed – but his green eyes do go comically wide and his heart jumps rather painfully in his chest. He refuses to admit there’s a squeak to his voice when he gasps out a rather questioning, “Niall?”

Niall spins around, smiling wide when he sees Harry awake and bounds over, jumping on the bed and jostling the sleepy brunette. “Harry, you’re awake!” he yells, excited. Harry shushes him, casting a weary eye at his door and telling Niall to try and keep quiet but the blonde isn’t really listening as he fidgets with Harry’s alarm clock, blue eyes intrigued. 

Harry watches him for a moment, giving his brain some time to catch up before he blurts out, “Hey, you can walk.” 

Niall smiles at him, chest puffed up in pride as he wiggles in his spot, coat from last night still tied tightly around his waist. “Yup, practiced while you were unconscious,” he practically preens. 

Harry’s about to correct him – he wasn’t unconscious; he was asleep – when something else catches his eye. “You’re not glowing anymore.” He looks the blonde up and down, confusion furrowing his brows. “Why aren’t you glowing anymore?”

“Well stars don’t usually glow in the day time, do they?” Niall laughs that same tinkling laughter from the night before. 

“Wait, you were serious about being a shooting star?” he asks, a bit incredulously because while he had come to terms with the boy being an alien – really, much too quickly, he’ll have to reevaluate his life choices later – saying that he’s a shooting star is a bit much. “Like the meteors that streak across the sky? That’s you? You’re the thing people wish on?” 

“Well, kinda, yup.” Niall nods, like it’s that simple. (Harry’s scared that it probably is.) “So have you decided on your wish yet?”

Harry remembers that Niall had mentioned something about a wish the night before, however, his brain had been too overwhelmed with _holy shit, alien_ at the time to really give it any thought. 

“I really get a wish?” he asks, green eyes watching as Niall bounces over to his closet, hands tapping curiously at the mirror hanging on the door. 

“Mhm,” Niall hums.

Green eyes narrow in distrust, one brow raised in suspicion. “And what’s the catch?” he asks, eyeing the blonde curiously. “Do I have to sell my soul or give up my first born or something?” 

Niall takes a moment to look at him oddly – Harry finds that a little annoying, _he’s_ not the crazy one here, thank you very much – before shaking his head. “No catch.” He blinks, big blue eyes turned up in thought, frowning, before saying, “But I do have a favor to ask.” 

“So there is a catch,” Harry sighs. There’s always a catch. 

“It’s nothing too bad, promise.” Niall gives a weak smile, joining Harry back on the bed and scratching nervously at his cheek. “It’s just that, technically, I’m not supposed to be here. So, before I go back, I’d like to experience the life of a human.” He glances up at Harry; teeth sinking in to his bottom lip in a way that Harry thinks is unfair. “So if you could just show me around a bit, show me what it’s like to be human, I’d really appreciate it.”

Harry looks at him, confused. What did that even _mean_ , show him what it’s like to be human?

“You mean like give you a tour of the city? Show you to my friends?” He offers, quirking a brow, feeling a bit bad – he’s probably the most boring person Niall could have picked. 

“Yes,” Niall breathes, a radiant smile quirking his lips. “I just want to see how you live.” 

They sit there for a moment, just watching each other, before the line of Harry’s shoulders slumps, a reluctant smile forming as he mumbles, “Okay, deal.”

Niall assaults him with another full-body hug, sending both of them tumbling off the bed in a chorus of squeaks and curses. 

Harry’s got his fingers on the blonde’s waist again – trying to get him to _stop laughing already and get off_ – when a loud rumbling comes from the petite stomach, vibrating against his fingertips. 

Niall goes still immediately, panic-ridden eyes going wide. Harry can’t help his own chuckles as he sits them both up, the blonde still perched in his lap.

“Relax, you’re just hungry.” He rubs a hand over his own stomach as it gives off a few sympathy rumbles. He glances at the clock. It’s ten to three – he’s surprised he could sleep that late. “We should go get something to eat.”

Niall is still staring down at his stomach, poking at it with each grumble. “You mean I get to have food?” 

Harry nods, laughing, and shoves the blonde off his lap to crawl over to his dresser. There are hardly any clothes left in his drawers, most of them being on the floor. 

“And you completely destroyed my room because…?” he asks, sending the blonde an unimpressed look over his shoulder. Niall looks at him, head upside down, from where he’s sprawled on the floor. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks that Harry wishes he didn’t find adorable. 

“I was exploring,” he answers slowly, biting at his lips again, “sorry.” 

Harry shrugs, picking up some jeans and a jumper that he thinks _might_ fit Niall’s thin frame. “So what do you want to eat?”

“I don’t know.” Niall kneels beside him, patient as Harry tries to find something that’ll fit. “I’ve never had food before.”

“I’ll just take you to one of my favorite places then,” Harry concludes, pulling out an older pair of jeans that he thinks might be small enough. He helps Niall get dressed, the whole process a bit embarrassing but also endearing as Niall struggles with a maroon jumper. The results aren’t amazing – the trousers are too long and the neckline of the jumper is too wide, but it works well enough. 

Harry pokes his head out of his room, green eyes sweeping around for any sign of Louis, Liam, or Zayn before dashing for the door, pulling a stumbling Niall behind him. 

They barely even make it to the corner of the block before Harry has to grab Niall by the hem of his shirt to keep him from wandering off – he practically sprints away when he sees a woman with a baby and Harry has to keep a firm grip on him from then on.

They end up at a fish and chip shop that’s near the university. It’s nothing fancy, but Harry figures it’s best to start with the classics and Niall doesn’t complain. In fact, the blonde can’t seem to stop smiling as he scarfs down three baskets, even stealing some of Harry’s chips.

“So, if you’re some kind of Martian, how come you understand English? Do you have some kind of chip planted in your brain that translates for you?” Harry asks, pulling his chips away from Niall’s grabby hands.

“Shooting star,” Niall corrects around a mouthful. “I understand you because I’ve been observing your planet for a long time. Guess I just picked it up.” He sniffs at the ketchup bottle before dumping the entire jar on his chips. “So, tell me ‘bout yourself, Harry.” 

Harry takes a bite of his own food before answering. (He chooses to ignore when Niall starts pouring pepper into his drink and surreptitiously slips a hand over his own) 

“There’s not much to tell. I grew up in Cheshire, about three hours north of here. I have a mom, dad, stepdad, and a sister. I go to Uni now and I live with my three roommates – Louis, Liam, and Zayn.” Harry shrugs, not quite sure what else to say.

(He doesn’t acknowledge that this sounds suspiciously like what a date sounds like and definitely ignores the giggling co-eds one table over who have been eyeing them since they came in)

Niall is looking at him like he’s handing out free lifetime passes to Disneyland – which doesn’t help the whole co-ed situation – and actually stops inhaling food long enough to ask him another question. “What’s it like having a family? Do you get along well?”

“As well as we can. They get on my nerves, I get on theirs.” Harry rests his chin on his palm, quirking a brow at the blonde. “Do you not have a family?” 

“No, my kind doesn’t have families. We form from energy,” Niall waves him off, taking a sip from his drink. He doesn’t sound sad, but Harry thinks he might be – just a little. 

“Interesting.”

“Not as interesting as you are,” Niall shoots right back, eyes fluttering to his hands before rising again. “Have you ever been in love?” he asks, and if Harry had thought that Niall was paying attention before, it’s nothing compared to now. All the forces of those blue eyes are focused on him and it makes his palms sweat and his knees jump.

“Uh, no, I haven’t,” he admits, blushing and cursing the waver in his voice – this isn’t something he’s used to talking about. “I’ve dated before, but nothing serious.” Niall tilts his head, brow furrowed and nods in the way that people do when they don’t understand but want you to think they do anyway.

A silence falls between them – not uncomfortable but not exactly comfortable either – and Harry is able to finish his meal before Niall speaks up again, voice low and much more tame than Harry thought it would be. 

“I know this all seems pretty weird. I mean, I kinda just dropped out of the sky and everything,” he fidgets with the salt and pepper shakers, pink tongue swiping across his lips. “But I do hope we can be friends.” He’s giving Harry this hopeful, sincere, and completely endearing smile – which Harry thinks is cheating because, come on, _who could resist that?_ – and Harry’s nodding along and agreeing before he knows it. 

Nightfall isn’t far off by the time they head back to the apartment. Niall still stops every ten seconds to look at this or ask Harry about that, but Harry doesn’t really mind. He likes watching the blonde explore. It’s been years since he showed that much interest in anything and watching Niall makes him wish he could see things like that – like they’re new and exciting and holding immeasurable secrets.

(Sometimes he thinks it’s hard being a cynic. Especially when Niall shows him a flower and the best he can do is try not to sneeze.)

“Would you stop that?” Harry sighs, pulling Niall down from a lamppost by the back of his jumper. He tries to give him an annoyed glare, but fails under the blonde’s sunny smile. “People are staring.” Niall looks at a group of girls watching from across the street and waves as they giggle behind their hands. Harry rolls his eyes and continues down the street, hands buried deep in his pockets. 

_Dumb alien._

Niall scampers after him, catching up just as Harry’s pushing into his building. They climb the three flights to the apartment with Niall chatting in Harry’s ear. The brunette doesn’t complain – even though Niall won’t shut up about some tree he saw on the walk over, his voice loud in Harry’s ear – because he likes the sound of his voice.

Harry doesn’t think to check before he throws the door open, hands tangled up in Niall’s jumper as the smaller boy tries to squirm away to investigate a lamp in the stairwell, blue eyes alight as he giggles in Harry’s grasp, a rueful smile tilting the brunette’s lips as he tries to keep him close and pull him inside. 

Harry finds Niall’s fascination with light fixtures simultaneously cute and annoying.

He’s halfway to his room, Niall managing to pull out of his grip but still clinging onto Harry’s sleeve, when he notices Louis and Liam on the couch, Zayn seated at the counter with a bowl of cereal – they’re all looking at him. 

“Where have you been all day?” Liam asks, brown eyes bouncing from Harry to Niall, eyes lingering on where Niall’s hands are gripped onto Harry’s sleeve. He raises a bushy brow in curiosity, head tilted in thought. 

“Just, you know, out,” Harry supplies rather unhelpfully. There’s a beat of silence – the awkward kind, Harry notes to himself – before Niall speaks up, smiling at the other three boys.

“Harry took me to get lunch.” He shoots Harry a quick smile, rocking on his heels, looking entirely too bubbly and adorable. 

“Were you here this morning?” Louis asks, a knowing smirk curling his lips and a mischievous glint in his dark blue eyes. Zayn, who had been paying more attention to his cereal than anything else, straightens up, suddenly very interested in the conversation. 

“Yeah, Harry brought me here last night,” Niall answers easily. Harry is giving him his best _shut the hell up_ look, but is pretty sure it doesn’t translate to alien because he goes on to say, “I stayed the night in his room.”

“Is that so, Harry?” Louis rises from the couch, saunters over to Harry’s side and slinks an arm across the curly haired boy’s shoulders. “You know, he does look rather dashing in your clothes. And what a petite, adorable boy you’ve managed to find.” He grins at Harry, all teeth. “I bet you two had some fun.”

Harry sends Louis his very best scathing glare (though he’s worried that the horribly crimson blush currently staining his cheeks somewhat diminishes the effect) and shrugs off his arm. “Don’t be ridiculous, I just found him wandering around last night. He was drunk and no one seemed to know him so I brought him here.”

“You’re a crap liar, Harry,” Louis tuts, crossing his arms and eyeing the brunette in a way that makes him feel all kinds of uncomfortable. He leans in close, voice low when he whispers in Harry’s ear, “I can tell you like him, you wouldn’t put up with him otherwise.” He pauses for a moment, lips pursed as he takes a step back and considers his words. “Besides, I heard talking in your room earlier. I thought you had finally managed to bring home a girl. Turns out my judgment of your tastes were a little off.”

“Leave him alone Louis,” Liam chastises from the couch, an art history book open in his lap. He gives Harry an apologetic smile, like Louis’ _his responsibility_. It comforts Harry that at least someone isn’t going to run around accusing him of things. “So what’s his name?”

Niall speaks up for himself, bouncing over to the couch and practically landing in Liam’s lap. The textbook is moved just in time to make way for flailing limbs. 

“I’m Niall.” He offers his hand – Harry has to wonder where he picked that up – and positively beams when Liam gives it a steady shake. “I’m a –”

“Friend of mine,” Harry cuts in, voice a little panicked because Niall was totally just about to spill that he’s an alien. He looks the blonde over a little helplessly, gob smacked at how he could have no survival instincts whatsoever. _Dumb alien._ “Niall, this is Louis, Liam, and Zayn,” Harry introduces, pointing to each of them respectively. “Niall is, uh, he’s going to be staying with us for a while.”

They all look a bit surprised at that (except Niall who’s smiling again and giving Harry another hug), but a deal’s a deal and it’s not like Niall has anywhere else to go. Besides, as loath as Harry is to admit it, Louis’ right, Harry does like the kid. 

\--x--

Liam offers to set up the couch bed for Niall, but Harry – not wanting to have the _aliens exist talk_ with his friends – quickly drags Niall to his room, mumbling something about the blonde being more comfortable with him, over his shoulder. 

(Louis snickers at him, but Louis is always snickering at something so Harry doesn’t put too much thought in to it.)

They spend the next couple of hours holed up in his room together, talking. Well, more Niall talking while Harry tries to get some homework done, but he finds it entertaining nonetheless. 

By the time the others go to bed (Liam knocks on his door to bid him good night) the sun has gone down and Niall’s skin is shimmering again, his hair and eyes aglow, and Harry finds it oddly comforting and normal to have Niall curled up at his side. 

\--x--

Harry wakes up to a sinking feeling swirling in his gut. Jolting upright, he glances blearily over at his clock and is up and sprinting into the bathroom in seconds, curses spilling past his lips. _He’s so late._

His shower is rushed. He’s barely gotten the soap out of his hair when he stumbles back out, towel wrapped around his hips and toothbrush pushed between his teeth. He’s scouring the cabinets for one of those overly sugary cereal bars that Louis likes to keep around when he spots Niall parked on the couch, blue eyes bright in the dim room. He’s curled up against the armrest, the same jumper from yesterday hanging loosely from his shoulder and a pair of jeans that actually fit covering his legs. (They must be Zayn’s, Harry reasons; he’s the only one near Niall’s size)

Niall smiles at him and he hastily wipes at a bit of toothpaste foam that had dribbled down his chin. Belatedly, he takes note of Zayn seated beside the blonde, a knowing tilt to the tan boy’s lips. 

“Good morning, Harry,” Niall greets, waving his arm and nearly upending the bowl in his lap. 

“Uh, yeah, morning,” he greets back, spitting into the sink and throwing his toothbrush onto the counter – he’ll get it later. “You been up for long?”

“Found him roamin’ the kitchen an hour or so ago,” Zayn answers. “The guy was starved.”

“You also dressed him,” Harry says questioningly, brow raised. Zayn doesn’t usually take to strangers very well. Mostly he just ignores them. 

“Not my fault your pants have to be monster sized to fit your ass,” Zayn shrugs, smirking when Harry scowls.

“Zayn gave me cereal.” Niall beams, holding up the mixing bowl he’s using for his breakfast. Harry has a vague moment of worry that Niall will actually eat him out of house and home, but shoves it aside when his eye catches the clock and he curses at the time. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, dashing into his room and throwing on the first clothes he comes across. He grabs his bag, throws the cereal bar in for later (it was the last one and Louis is going to have a fit, but he honestly couldn’t care less), and sprints back into the common room. He pauses long enough to see Zayn channel flipping with Niall. “See you guys later.”

The door is just swinging shut behind him when he hears Niall shout at him to “have a good day!” Harry sprints down the stairs, bursting out onto the street just as the bus is turning the corner, driving away. 

“Of fucking course,” he sighs, starting his brisk walk down the sidewalk.

When he does finally make it to class, he’s only a couple minutes late. Huffing slightly from the walk (yes, even fast walking is too much of a workout for him), he slips quietly through the door and takes a seat in the back row. 

(He can feel the professor eyeing him, but doesn’t look up to check)

“Hiya, Harry,” Cher calls out in a whisper, turning around in her seat to talk to him. She blinks at him through long lashes, painted nails peaking out of a knitted white jumper as she wiggles her fingers in a wave. 

“Hey,” he returns, not raising his eyes from where he’s rooting around in his bag. She prods him with her pencil until he gives her a huffy look. She just laughs.

“Dani says there’s going to be a little gathering at the karaoke bar over by the music store. We’re all gonna meet up before the football game. You interested?” 

Harry raises a skeptical brow, eyeing her wearily. “How many people is ‘a little’, exactly?”

Cher rolls her eyes – as she does whenever Harry is being particularly antisocial (too often, really) – and shrugs. “I don’t know. Like, fifty or so? And don’t you make that face, Styles.” Harry reels in his scowl. “You should really come. It’ll be fun.”

Harry is about to decline, words already occupying the space behind his teeth, when thoughts of a certain blonde invade his mind and make him reconsider. He _had_ promised to show him around. (He can’t be sure, but he doesn’t think they have karaoke in space)

“Alright,” he agrees, voice slow with hesitance. He regrets this decision already.

Cher beams and throws him a thumbs up before spinning back around in her seat. “Good, bring the boys too.” 

Harry spends the rest of class trying to take notes but mostly just wonders if Niall will like karaoke or not. 

\--x--

Harry doesn’t end up getting to the karaoke bar on time (he had texted the boys to meet him there at two) because he had stayed behind to talk to his Shakespearean lit teacher – the man talks in riddles at the best of times. 

He’s a bit nervous because although he had said he’d stop back at the apartment to get Niall, Zayn had told him not to worry and that he’d take care of the blonde. Harry’s not entirely sure Niall can manage to keep his secret for an entire afternoon and half expects to be bombarded by questions about aliens and wishes and life choices and really, he’d rather avoid all that. 

So he’s actually quite surprised to find the four of them gathered around a table, pints already half empty (except for Liam who has his usual order of ‘just water, thanks’ in front of him) and looking for all the world like a normal bunch of Uni students. (Well, maybe not normal, but he’ll take what he can get)

Niall nearly falls off his stool when he sees Harry. He flings his arms to the sides – he almost gets Zayn in the eye – as he shouts out a rather jubilant, “Harry!” He captures the brunette in a hug that has Harry stuttering out his own hello and stumbling into the table. He almost returns the embrace but stops because Louis is looking _much too happy_ from across the table. 

Instead he pats the boy kindly on the shoulder and maneuvers him safely back into his chair. He sits in the only seat left – right between Liam and Niall – and flags down a waitress (he orders something that has more fruit than alcohol and ignores Louis snickering at him) before turning back to the lads. 

“So, what’d I miss?” he asks, because really, they’re all tittering like schoolgirls. 

“DJ Malik, here, performed a rather heartfelt rendition of _Total Eclipse of the Heart_. He did both parts himself and only got in ‘bout half the lyrics,” Louis giggles, sending them all into another round of hysterics. 

Harry eyes them wearily, fingers drumming calculatingly along the edge of the table. “You’re all drunk,” he sighs, shaking his head.

“As should you be!” exclaims Zayn who leans bodily over Niall (who just laughs into his drink, the traitor) and shoves his beer into Harry’s hands. Harry tries to push it away, his protests of _‘I don’t even like beer’_ and _‘really, it’s just gonna go to waste’_ being ignored, leaving him holding the pint unwillingly. They start up a rather raucous chant of _‘drink! drink! drink!’_ so he takes a sip just to get them to shut up and swallows it down, his face twisting in disgust. 

Niall giggles beside him, and Harry tries to scowl – he really does – but it comes off as more of a pout and just serves to make the blonde laugh even more. 

A song comes on, some horrible, kitchy pop song that Harry doesn’t know, and Louis nearly knocks the whole table over as he jumps out of his chair. “I love this song! Zayn, dance with me!” Zayn’s a bit more graceful when he stands – Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen him trip, _ever_ – and slings an arm across Louis’ shoulder, the two whirling their way to the dance floor. 

Liam watches them go a bit worriedly, craning his neck to keep an eye on them. “Maybe I should go make sure they don’t kill anyone,” he says, glancing from Harry to the dance floor. Harry waves him off, already a little agitated by how loud and hot and crowded it is in here. 

His drink comes just as Liam’s walking away and he’s relieved to have something to wash his mouth out with – he’ll never understand how anyone can actually _like_ beer.

The table is quiet and he chances a glance up at Niall. He’s got his chin cupped in his hands, the sleeves of his sweater pulled up over his palms so only the tips of his fingers poke out, big blue eyes staring adoringly at Harry and, honestly, it’s _way too fucking cute._

“Zayn taught me how to play Mario Kart today,” he says, all smiles. “He also showed me how to make the tele change pictures.” He seems incredibly proud of himself. 

(Harry ignores the way his chest tightens when he pictures Niall and Zayn bonding)

“So you had fun?” he asks a bit reluctantly. 

Niall shrugs, smiling. “It would have been more fun if you were there.” 

Harry’s heart absolutely does not melt at that. 

(It does.)

Niall launches into a detailed recounted of his day – _the box is cold, Harry, all the time!_ – and Harry lets him because it’s endearing and he actually missed the blonde chattering in his ear all day. 

They’re interrupted by Cher, her neon purples and canary yellows catching their eyes long before she makes it to their table. 

“Harry, you made it!” she yells, swooping in and pecking him on the cheek. He scrunches his nose and wipes a hand over the side of his face – he knows from experience that her lipstick tends to linger. 

“You don’t have to sounds so surprised,” he mumbles, barely loud enough to be heard over the music, “I said I’d come, didn’t I?”

“Honestly I just thought you were trying to get me to shut up,” she laughs and Harry isn’t sure if he should be insulted or not. She flicks brown eyes to Niall, intrigue clear in the purse of her lips and the flutter of her lashes. “Who’s your friend?” 

“I’m Harry’s date,” Niall chirps and Harry nearly chokes on his drink. 

“Really?” Cher asks, full on grinning at the two of them. 

Niall nods, “That’s what Louis said.” Because of course Louis would say that. Harry has a brief moment to dread over what else Louis has told the blonde – nothing good for sure. (Though if he’s being completely honest with himself – which he’s not – he wouldn’t mind calling Niall his date, alien or not.)

“Wow, I didn’t know you had game, Styles.” She elbows him in the side, which actually hurts a lot more than he lets on, and leans across the table, long, sparkly earrings swinging. “What’s your name, cutie?” 

“Niall,” he answered, offering his hand for her to shake. 

“Do you go to the University, Niall?” she asks, squeezing his hand and looking him up and down. “I haven’t seen you around.”

“No, I’m-”

“Just visiting,” Harry jumps in. He flashes Niall _a look_ because he could have sworn they’d gone over this.

“I was gonna say that,” Niall pouts.

“Do you wanna do a song with me, Niall?” Cher asks. Harry has always wondered where she stores all that confidence and bravado in such a tiny body.

“Nope, blondie here has been waiting all night to sing with Harry,” Louis interrupts, swinging back into his seat. He’s got another drink in hand and his hair is damp with sweat. Zayn ambles up behind him and slides into a chair, looking about ready to pass out. (Zayn’s always been a sleepy drunk) “Isn’t that right?” Louis teases the blonde.

Harry’s about to tell Louis off – the Doncaster boy _knows_ he doesn’t do stages – when there’s a tugging on his sleeve and suddenly Niall is much closer and looking much too hopeful.

“Will you sing with me?” Harry can smell the alcohol on his breath and wonders how much it takes for the boy to get drunk. He doesn’t seem very steady on his feet. 

“Uh,” he falters. The blonde’s looking at him like a little puppy and he can already feel the guilt swirling in his gut. “I don’t really do crowds or stages or spot lights,” he mumbles, doing his best to not look into pleading blue eyes.

“Oh, okay,” Niall nods, sitting back down.

“I’ll sing with you, little man,” Zayn slurs, rousing long enough to sling an arm around Niall’s slim shoulders and give him a smile.

Harry’s about to protest – Niall is _his_ alien, not Zayn’s – when Cher flicks a peanut at the sleepy brunette. “You can barely keep your eyes open.” She’s given no rebuttal as Zayn’s head slips back to the table. “Come on, sweetie, you can sing with me.”

Niall gives Harry one last look before slipping off the stool and following Cher through the crowds. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Louis slips into Niall’s seat, tipping back the last of his drink before leaning over to steal Zayn’s. (Harry’s pretty sure Zayn’ll be dead to the world for a good hour or so.) Louis levels Harry with a look – it’s probably supposed to mean something, but he’s a little too drunk-sloppy to get it across – over the rim of Zayn’s pint. 

“Whatever,” Harry mutters, palming Louis’ face away when the brunette gets too close. 

“No, really,” Louis insists. “He’s been super excited all day. Wouldn’t shut up and nearly gave Liam a heart attack on the way over here – he kept running in to traffic.” 

“It’s not my fault he if runs into the street.” Harry isn’t pouting.

(He is.)

He yelps when Louis flicks him on the nose. “My point is you should be a better boyfriend.”

Harry knows he’s being a bit of a jerk. He’s just not good at this kind of thing, which is why all he can manage is a mumbled, “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“’m just sayin’ that you could be a bit less of a twat about it,” Louis says before slapping a hand on Harry’s back. “Eventually he’s gonna accept that you’re a sarcastic, foulmouthed, antisocial git, but ‘til then you should really work on bein’ a better person.” He takes another sip, contemplative. “If you’re hopin’ to shag him again, that is.” 

Harry sighs and moves to stand up – he’s remembered that he doesn’t actually have to listen to this. “I’m going to go find Liam.” He doesn’t think Louis’ heard him though as the brunette has taken to harassing (Louis himself would calling it flirting) the waitress into bringing him another drink. 

Harry spends approximately three minutes looking for Liam before deciding it’s too much trouble and finds a nice corner to brood in instead. 

He’s just managed to settle into a good scowl – one that will tell people to go away properly – when he spots Niall across the way, eyes intent on the twinkle lights lining the walls. He takes a moment to remind himself to not be a jerk before heading over.

“Hey,” he greets, ignoring the urge to slip an arm around the blonde’s waist to keep him still because _this is not a date, damn it_. “Where’s Cher?”

“I think she’s mad at me because I didn’t know any of the songs,” he answers, face a bit crestfallen as he gazes at the lights. The reflections in his eyes look like stars and he doesn’t think that’s endearing at all. 

(He does.)

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he offers awkwardly. He’s not entirely sure what to say.

Niall shrugs. “’Salright. Only really wanted to do it with you anyway.”

Harry feels even worse now and wishes Niall would smile, if only to clear his own conscience. A heavy sigh passes his lips because he knows what he has to do.

“Do you wanna, like,” he scratches at his cheek, trying not to act as awkward as he feels, “dance, or something?” 

Niall looks intrigued. There’s even a little smile on his face. “Can we?” 

“Sure,” Harry allows, giving his own smile in return. Dancing won’t be _so bad_. It’s a lot of flailing and elbows and sweat, but it’s better than going on stage and if it cheers Niall up then it’s worth it. 

Niall grips his hand tight and pulls him into the small crowd in the middle of the room. They worm their way right to the center just as another person is taking the stage. The beginnings of Kiss’ _Rock n’ Roll All Night_ comes on and Harry knows the drill – he’s done this before with Louis and knows it’s a whole lot of fist pumping and hip shaking – but Niall seems to have a different idea as he settles his hand on Harry’s shoulder, the other gripping onto Harry’s fingers. Niall pulls him close enough so that when he smiles up at the brunette, Harry can see every shade of the milky way swirling in his eyes. 

Harry stumbles into it, his free hand clutching onto Niall’s waist to keep himself upright. Niall’s moving them in slow, clumsy circles, and Harry has to suppress a laugh. 

_Dumb alien._

“You know, this isn’t really how you do this.” It’s mumbled right into the blonde’s ear, they’re so close.

“This is how they did it on the tele,” Niall shrugs, the movement making the tips of his blonde hair tickle at Harry’s nose. “I like it this way.”

Harry can’t really argue with that. (Even if the song’s all wrong and people are staring at them.)

They continue slow dancing for a couple more poppy, upbeat songs before Cher gets on stage to sing a ballad (she has the audacity to dedicate it to them and Harry flips her off over Niall’s shoulder).

Harry’s just thinking about pulling Niall closer (see if he fits to the curves of Harry’s chest as well as it looks like he does) when Niall laughs, “I like your friends.” Harry quirks a brow, confused, before turning and seeing Liam trying to coax Louis down from the table. Zayn seems to have come back to the land of the living long enough to climb on Liam’s back. 

“They’re all idiots,” Harry quips, though he can’t deny the warm, squishy feeling he gets in his gut because they’re _his idiots_.

“They’re funny,” Niall says. “And nice. I was always told human were heartless, callous creatures. I’m glad they were wrong.” 

“Hey now, we’re not all nice,” Harry remarks, but Niall doesn’t look like he believes him. “I’m serious. Not everyone is as friendly and annoyingly loveable as my friends are.” He flicks Niall across the nose because it doesn’t look like the blonde is really paying attention. “I’m serious. Have some self preservation.” 

Niall only smiles at him (which makes Harry think he’s still not taking him seriously) and says, “I’m glad you’re the one that found me, then.” 

Harry almost wants to shove him away – his smile is so _sickeningly sweet_ – but manages a simple shake of his head instead and mumbles, “Dumb alien.”

Niall laughs – loud and delightful and fucking _brilliant_ – and spins them around faster. He’s grinning and his eyes are dancing with laughter when he looks up and Harry feels his own grin sliding into place – it’s infectious. 

They come to an abrupt stop, both a little out of breath. Someone’s singing to an upbeat country song and there are bodies jumping all around them. Niall’s voice is quiet when he speaks and Harry’s surprised he can hear him.

“Have you thought about what you want to wish for?”

Honestly, he hasn’t. He shrugs, still grinning like a complete fool (maybe he’s more drunk than he thought). “Nope.” 

Niall bites his lip, trying for and failing at nonchalance. “Guess I’ll just have to stick around for a while.” 

“If you must.” Niall punches him lightly on the shoulder – something he must have picked up from Zayn – and Harry chuckles, checking the time on his phone. It’s much later than he’d thought (it’ll be dark out soon) and Niall doesn’t complain when he bustles them out of the crowd and back to their table. 

Louis’ sitting on Liam’s lap, a cup of coffee in hand and looking a bit more sober. (Liam looks a bit exasperated and Zayn’s asleep again.) 

“We’re gonna head out,” Harry says. Louis gives him a little pout.

“You’re not gonna come to the footie game with us?” Harry doesn’t know why Louis looks so put out. He doesn’t usually go to games with them.

“I’m sure you’ll live,” he intones. Louis mutters something about loyalty and friendship into his cup but otherwise doesn’t raise any complaints. 

“Be safe,” Liam calls out, peering around a sulking Louis. “Don’t let Niall near the streets!”

There’s a chill in the air when they step outside, the cold wind biting straight through their clothes. Harry doesn’t mind when Niall burrows in close, the tip of his nose going pink from the cold. 

“I’m hungry. Can we get food on the way back?”

Harry nods and starts walking – he’s sure there’s a Chinese takeaway place a couple blocks over. “Yeah, alright.”


	2. Chapter 2

Harry spends the rest of the week caught between school and locking himself in his apartment. He feels bad, _really_ he does. Niall’s done nothing but sit on the couch and watch him for days now and the best he can do is offer to make quick food runs. But he’s got essays to write and midterms to study for and alien or not, this Western European Colonialism and Colonization paper is kicking his ass. 

Harry falls back on his bed with a groan, feet crossed at the ankles and laptop resting on his lap. “Why do university papers have to be so long?” 

“Aren’t you a lit major? Shouldn’t long papers be like your bread and butter?” Louis asks from the ground. He’s got glasses perched on his nose and Harry hates how they make him look sophisticated because _he’s not._

“Shut up, why are you in my room?” he snaps – if the older boy is just going to be an arsehole instead of feeling properly sympathetic then he can leave. 

“Your room gets the best wifi and I have to download all my course notes for my exams.” Louis shrugs and Harry hates him because Louis hardly ever goes to class and still gets amazing test scores

“Well get out, you’re distracting me.” 

Louis looks a bit incredulous when he says, “I wasn’t even doing anything.”

“You are now.” Harry scowls. “So get out.” 

“Fine, geez,” Louis huffs, gathering his things and stalking out of the room. “Fucking spaz.” He pauses when he meets Niall in the doorway. The blonde’s got another mixing bowl full of cereal and another pair of pants that must be Zayn’s (if Harry had the time, he’d wonder just how many pairs of pants Zayn owns). “Try and make him a bit less of a prat, will you?” Then he huffs and makes a rather dramatic exit.

Harry knows he should probably apologize. But he can hear Louis bothering Zayn in the living room, so clearly he’s not too upset. So instead he sighs again and flings his arms over his face. The bed dips down next to him but he doesn’t say anything.

“Do you want some help?” Niall asks. Harry peeks out from under his arm. Niall’s peering at his screen but turns to meet his eyes and smiles. Harry hates that he doesn’t hate that. 

“Unless you can think of another four pages detailing the health impacts of western colonialism, there’s not much you can do.” He groans – he’s so tired. Niall gives him a considering look before setting his bowl aside and pulling the laptop into his own lap. 

“I think I can help with that,” he nods, scrolling through the document.

Harry leans up on his elbows, brow raised. “You know about Western European colonialism and colonization?”

“Sure,” Niall shrugs, “I mean, I did see it happen. I think I can remember enough for a few pages.” 

“It was in the 1800’s!” Harry breathes, disbelieving. He’s looking at Niall like he’s crazy.

“Yeah, not too long ago.” Niall nods like he’s not about to give Harry an aneurysm. Harry considers asking – because how old do you have to be for the 1800’s to be _not too long ago?_ – but decides to just accept it and count it as a good thing. Niall pauses in his typing to glance up at Harry (who’s still gaping, at least a little).

“You can work on something else, I got this,” he assures before diving right back in. Harry hesitates before picking up _the Portrait of a Lady_ from the ground (he was supposed to finish reading it three days ago). He gets through five pages before snapping it shut, turning bodily to face the blonde.

“I’m sorry this has been so boring,” he blurts, getting a bit hot in the ears when Niall blinks at him over the screen. “This probably isn’t what you were expecting.”

“I asked you to show me how you live.” Niall smiles. “This is perfect.” He taps at a few more keys before pausing, lips pursed. “Although, if you’d like to thank me you could make me some food.” 

“You just ate an entire box of cereal.” Honestly, the boy’s a bottomless pit.

“Yeah, but I’m hungry.” Niall gives Harry a look – something between hopeful and doleful – that makes Harry roll his eyes, already climbing off the bed.

“Alright, alright, stop with the eyes.” He doesn’t miss the self-satisfied grin that curves the blonde’s mouth but doesn’t say anything. 

Louis’ draped over Zayn’s lap in the living room, tapping away at his computer while the tan boy reviews his o-chem notes over the shorter boy’s back. Louis glances at him as he bangs around the kitchen (Niall will probably like it if he makes pasta, the blonde loves noodles).

“You done being a twat now?” Louis asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, though he can’t help the fond smile as he plucks a few tomatoes from the fridge. 

“You making pasta?” Zayn asks, craning his neck to see into the kitchen. “Make me some, yeah?”

“Ooh, me too!” Louis shouts, feet kicking in the air. (Zayn swats at them to make them stop, but Louis just kicks harder). “And Liam. I don’t think he’s eaten yet today,” he adds.

Harry just nods and pulls out more tomatoes. 

\--x--

Another week goes by and Harry has still managed to keep his sanity. He’s become a bit less paranoid about Niall running off into traffic or revealing his secret and can actually breathe normally when he’s forced to leave the blonde in his dorm when he goes to classes. 

More often than not, Zayn’s there to keep Niall company (the two of them have become fast friends and Harry’s not entirely sure how he feels about that) and it’s not uncommon for Harry to come home to the two of them laughing over a video game or sharing a pizza. (Harry never holds it against Zayn though because Niall always scampers over for a hug the second he sees him).

Today, Zayn and Louis have decided to take Niall to a football game. The blonde has developed a bit of an obsession with the sport since he saw it on the tele a few days back. 

(Harry had considered not letting him go because _strangers_ and _aliens_ and _anything could happen_ but Niall _had_ gotten him an A on the paper he had helped Harry write so he figured the blonde deserves it).

The apartment is quiet when Harry gets home, exhausted from a long day of analysis and discussion. He throws his bag near the couch and makes a beeline for the kitchen. He’s starving. 

Harry grabs a snack from the fridge – which is uncommonly empty and containing only a couple blueberry yogurts and string cheese – when Liam comes out of his room. He and Liam never seem to have a very compatible schedule and – especially with exams – he really hasn’t seen much of the boy in the last few days. 

“Hey,” Harry says around a mouthful of blueberry. He’s perched himself on the counter, his heels knocking lazily into the cabinets. 

“Hey,” Liam returns, rubbing at the dark circles under his eyes as he grabs a Tupperware full of celery sticks that Harry hadn’t even noticed. “Where is everyone?”

“Zayn and Louis took Niall to a footie match,” Harry answers, shrugging. “Should be back pretty soon.” He glances briefly to his bedroom, almost reluctant to enter knowing that Niall isn’t here to keep him company. (He immediately wants to kick himself in the face for thinking that because – wow – _way to sound pathetic_ ).

Liam hums in understanding while munching on his celery. Harry can feel Liam looking at him from where he’s leaning against the fridge and finds the combination of crunching and staring to be a bit unnerving. He stares determinedly at his yogurt and does his best not to fidget. 

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now,” Liam starts, voice a bit hesitant. He doesn’t like confrontations. 

“About what?” Harry asks, feigning ignorance. There’s really only one thing Liam would want to talk about so seriously. 

“About Niall,” he says, just like Harry knew he would. 

Harry gulps, nervous. There are a whole myriad of odd things that Liam could have picked up on (like how Niall is afraid of the blender or how Harry had had to coax him into _trusting_ the shower or how really the only thing the blonde seems to actually know is world history) to make him suspicious and Harry is seriously counting on Liam’s rational side to keep this conversation as far away from the extraterrestrial as possible. “What about him?”

“Well, it’s just,” Liam rubs a hand across his neck, “he’s been here a while and we don’t really know too much about him other than his name.” He levels Harry with a look that makes the younger boy antsy. “I mean, that’s odd, right?”

Harry shrugs, spoon caught between his teeth. “You don’t like him?” 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Liam sighs, “I like him fine. It’s just…weird?” He sends Harry a questioning look. “I mean, you just found him at that party and now he’s been staying here for a couple weeks.” He crunches another celery before continuing. “I’ve never seen him around and he doesn’t go to classes so obviously he doesn’t go to our school.”

Harry nods because – yeah – Niall certainly doesn’t go to uni with them. 

“How’d you meet him anyway?” Liam asks.

“I found him in the park,” Harry answers without thinking, blinking a bit stupidly as the words settle in the air between them because – dear God – anything would have sounded better than _‘I found him in the park’_.

“The park?” Liam asks, looking just as baffled as Harry feels. “Oh god,” he moans, setting his snack aside and giving Harry a rather serious look. “Please tell me he’s of age, Harry. Do not tell me that you took some underage kid from the _park_.”

“Well, I mean, I’m pretty sure he’s of age,” Harry mumbles. He doesn’t know the logistics of space aging, but Niall looks like he’s at least about Harry’s age. (Not to mention the whole _‘I talk about the Roman Empire like I was there’_ thing). 

“You mean you don’t know?” Liam asks, eyes practically bugging out of his head. “What if he’s just some kid?” He grips the counter in panic. “What if we’re harboring a teenage runaway?” Another wave of panic runs through him and he points at Harry. “And you’re shacking up with him!” He moans, “Oh God, we’re all going to jail.” 

Harry sputters, “I am not _shacking up with him_.” Liam just throws him a look telling him that that’s clearly not the point. He squirms a bit uncomfortably on the counter, upset that he hadn’t thought to make some kind of cover story in the time that Niall’s been with them. _Honestly, he feels like a right idiot_. “Niall’s just a… free spirit,” he assures, “not a runaway. Promise.” Though, he supposes, technically the blonde is a runaway. Just not the kind Liam thinks. 

Liam sighs, rubbing at his temples like Harry’s giving him a headache – which he probably is. “I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he says and Harry feels uncomfortable with how heartfelt it sounds. 

“I’m not gonna get hurt, Li. He’s just a friend who needs a place to crash for a bit, that’s all.” He smiles, albeit a bit weakly. 

Liam looks like he wants to say something else, but is cut off as the front door bangs open and Zayn stumbles through the threshold, a laughing Niall clinging to his back. Niall’s decked out in a jersey (Doncaster Rovers – clearly Louis’) and a snapback, his cheeks flushed from the cold. 

Blue eyes positively sparkle when they spot Harry, the curly haired boy barely able to slide off the counter before Niall’s barreling into him. 

“Harry, you should have come with us.” Niall’s smiling, beaming so bright that his eyes are nearly squinted shut. “There were so many people, it was amazing!”

“You should have seen him,” Louis laughs, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Could barely keep him in his seat, he was so excited.” 

“Ate like a motherfucker too,” Zayn says, snatching up Niall’s snapback to ruffle his hair. He shoots a pointed look at Harry, finger poking at the taller boy’s arm. “You owe me thirty quid.” 

Harry can already feel his wallet burning a hole in his pocket but only nods because Niall’s messing with the buttons on his shirt and it’s very distracting. (He tries not to think about how endearing the gesture is).

“So, exams are finally over and we’re all here at the same time for once,” Louis starts, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “How about we have a lad’s night in and play video games and eat massive amounts of junk food?”

They all agree, piling onto the couch in a heap of limbs and smiles. (“I call first round in Halo” “No, we’re playing FIFA” “Louis get your knee out of my spine”) Eventually they run out of crisps and they all start complaining about being hungry (Niall’s stomach rumbles so loud that it seems cruel to make him wait any longer) and Harry volunteers to run out and get them food. 

There are streaks of orange in the sky by the time he gets back from the store, the sun just beginning to set, and he knows that he’s going to have to drag Niall back to his room for the night. It’s surprising when he finds Niall asleep on the couch, curled up into Louis’ side and snoring lightly. 

“Fell asleep almost as soon as you left,” Louis says, voice hushed. Even the TV’s been turned down. “Didn’t know if we should move him or not.”

“I’ll take him,” Harry whispers, bending down to scoop Niall up into his arms. His heart stutters when Niall slips his arms around his neck and nuzzles into his chest, blue eyes blinking open sleepily before drifting closed again. He presses a kiss to the crown of his head and ignores the way that Liam’s watching them. 

“Come back out, yeah?” Zayn whispers, pausing his game to look at Harry. “I’ve been dying to kick your ass at Call of Duty all week.” 

Harry nods as he pops his bedroom door open with his hip. He’s gentle as he settles Niall onto his bed – careful not to call it _their bed_ despite the fact that they’ve been sharing it for a good couple weeks now. 

The last few ray of sun are shining through the window, the light dancing across pale skin and catching in soft hair. It’s enough to make a now familiar flutter erupt in Harry’s stomach. He laughs to himself, a hand rubbing harshly at his eyes and scrubbing through his hair before heading back out – there’s no way he’s falling for some dumb alien. 

\--x--

Harry has never liked (nor understood) mandatory general education. Honestly, he’s a lit major. Why does he have to take science and maths? He’s never been very good at them and he had been ecstatic to leave them behind after secondary school. 

(Liam had told him to get Gen Ed out of the way early on, but he hadn’t listened and now he’s really regretting it – not that he’d tell Liam that).

He’s sitting on a stool in his chemistry class, goggles perched on his nose and gaze turned to the window on the far wall. The teacher is going over something in the front (“this will be on your exams so pay attention”) but he hasn’t heard a word of it. (If he doesn’t understand something, he’ll just ask Zayn.)

He heaves out a sigh, fingers caught up in his hair, as he tries to keep his thoughts from straying to the blue eyed blonde he’d left at home. 

He had crawled into bed late the night before – he hadn’t realized how much time had passed between all the rounds of Mario Kart – to find Niall glowing softly under the covers. The light shimmering off his skin growing and dimming like a heartbeat. And Harry had thought that he looked beautiful. Truly captivating. 

And Harry had wanted to touch, to tangle his fingers in soft hair and press the pad of his thumb to the other boy’s jaw. He had wanted to graze his palms over smooth cheeks (flushed, even his sleep) and feel him breath against his lips. 

He had wanted to kiss him.

The thought had startled him, pushed him to jumping off his bed and fleeing to Louis’ room where he had wormed his way under the other boy’s covers (“Haz? You okay?” “Yeah, go back to sleep.”) and spent the night doing more thinking than sleeping. 

Harry scrubs through his hair, not liking the way his stomach flutters at the thought of Niall. Honestly, this is all fucking insane. He can’t like Niall like that. He’s not even human, for Christ’s sake. 

“Harry,” Perrie says, shaking his shoulder and startling him out of his thoughts. She smiles in amusement when he jumps. “You gonna sit ‘round all day? Class is over.”

“Oh,” he breathes, jumping out of his seat to gather his things. “Right. Thanks.”

“’S no problem,” she assures, handing him a pencil he’d dropped. “I’ll see ya ‘round, then.”

Harry waves his goodbye as she leaves before shoving his things in his bag and heading out. He’s frowning as he treks across campus. Maybe if he just doesn’t think about it, it’ll go away. If he doesn’t acknowledge his feelings, they don’t exist.

Because that sounds healthy. 

It’s well after lunchtime and Harry is considering popping into the café down the street for a muffin (he is not thinking about how banana nut is Niall’s favorite) before his next class. It’s maths and he hates maths. 

He’s just contemplating taking his muffin business to the coffee cart instead since he’s not sure he wants to walk all the way to the café when he’s stopped by a familiar voice.

“Harry!”

He whips around, eyes scanning intently for a small blonde, anxious because he’s pretty sure he told him to stay in the flat. 

“Harry!” he calls again and people are looking now, “up here!”

He looks up, panicked. _Dear God_ , Niall can fly and just hasn’t told him yet? He catches movement out of the corner of his eye and finally spots Niall. 

In a tree.

A good twenty feet up in a tree. 

He scuttles over, eyes locked onto the blonde (despite how much he wants to stare at the ground and just walk away because _holy shit there are a lot of people looking at them_ ). 

Niall’s beaming at him when he reaches the base of the tree, head tilted back uncomfortably to be able to see him amongst the leaves. He pushes curls out of his eyes impatiently and tries his best stern face. 

“Niall,” he yells as quietly as he can, “get down.”

“What?” Niall yells back, head tilted in question. “I can’t hear you.” He pats the space next to him, hands beckoning him up. “Come up with me.”

Harry shakes his head, eyeing the tree skeptically. It doesn’t look very sturdy. It’s amazing that Niall got as high as he did. “Come down,” he yells, voice uncomfortably loud. 

Thankfully Niall doesn’t object again. Unfortunately, he climbs done with a reckless abandon that nearly gives Harry a heart attack – swinging from branch to branch and just plain dropping the last six feet. He lands in front of Harry, smiling from ear to ear; the apples of his cheeks burned a soft pink from the hazy, afternoon sun.

Harry doesn’t stare.

(He does).

“Hello,” Niall breathes. He leans in to give Harry a hug and Harry does his absolute best to not enjoy it before pushing the blonde to arms-length. 

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks. His brows are pulls down, his lips set in a hard line and Niall must notice because his own smile dims. The blonde’s feet shuffle along the ground.

“Zayn brought me,” he answers, looking up at Harry through his lashes. “I missed you.”

Harry drops his hands and heaves a sigh. He can’t be mad when Niall’s making that face – though that’s not to say he won’t rip Zayn a new one when he sees him.

“Where is he, then?” He looks around them like he expects Zayn to be hiding nearby. 

“He said he had class,” Niall answers, looking a bit reluctant. No doubt he doesn’t want to get Zayn in trouble. They have become rather close. 

“And why exactly were you in a tree?” 

“Well, he told me where to find you, but I got lost,” Niall admits, looking sheepish and _damn_ that’s cute. “I thought I’d be able to find you if I was higher up. And I did!” He beams again; tugging at the hem of Harry’s shirt as he steps closer and Harry knows what this must look like to an onlooker. Niall’s nearly pressed into his chest, his chin titled up to look into Harry’s face. 

Harry coughs and backs up. He’s had just about enough anxiety for today, thanks. 

“Since you’re here, you want to grab some food? I haven’t eaten yet.” Harry isn’t sure this is a good decision (Niall can eat his weight in food) but he’s hungry and getting a table between them is probably a good idea. He can still feel the desire to _touch_ and that just won’t do. 

“Can we get something called sushi?” Niall asks, skipping into step with Harry as they make their way off campus. “Louis says that since I haven’t had it I’m not living. I’d very much like to live.”

Harry doesn’t bother correcting him. Honestly, the kid takes things way too literally. “Yeah, we can get sushi,” he agrees. The closest sushi bar is a thirty-minute bus ride away and he’s only got about an hour before his next class. Oh well, he doesn’t like maths anyway. 

Harry directs them to the bus stop and pulls Niall onto the bench. The blonde fidgets beside him, blue eyes drawn up to the sky. His brows scrunch in thought. 

“Harry,” he questions, not taking his eyes off the sky, “What is the current distance between this planet and the next?”

“Uhh…” Harry looks at him, confused, “I’ve no idea.” Niall looks a bit disappointed, gazing lowering to the street. “Why?”

“Just a feeling I have.” Niall shrugs it off, like having feelings regarding other planets is normal. Harry would ask about it, but there are other people gathering around them as the bus pulls up. He grabs a hold of Niall to keep him close as they walk on and Harry grabs them some seats. 

The ride is actually less eventful than he had expected. Niall’s never been on a bus before so he had thought the blonde would go all alien inquisitor like he usually does. However, he’s actually pretty subdued. 

(He only stares slack-jawed out the window for about two blocks and only expresses how impressed he is by the driver’s ability to ‘command the metal beast’ two times before they get to their destination).

\--x--

“What is it?” Niall asks, poking with his chopstick. He’s leaning close, nose nearly brushing the sushi as he inspects it. Harry pushes him back with a hand to his shoulder. 

“Salmon,” he answers, shoving his own eel roll into his mouth. 

Niall looks at him quickly. “Fish?” Harry nods. “It doesn’t look like the fish we’ve gotten before.”

“That’s because it’s not cooked.” 

“Really?” Niall asks, springing back like he’s been shocked. He looks scandalized. “And you eat it?” 

“What difference does it make to you, ya Martian?” Harry asks, taking another bite. “You like your chips marinated in orange soda but raw fish is where you draw the line?” 

“It just seems odd.” Niall’s gone back to poking at his food. He does look less startled though. “Every other animal we’ve eaten has been cooked. Why is this one different?” 

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs, “it’s Japanese.” 

Niall contemplates this with pursed lips, fumbling with his chopsticks as he tries to pick up a piece. He’s not doing so well.

“Here,” Harry sighs, reaching over and picking up a piece for him and holding it up to his lips. “Eat,” he insists. He tries not to watch too intensely (Jesus he feels like a creeper) as Niall opens his mouth to let Harry feed him. 

Harry retracts his hand and drops the chopsticks like he’s been burned. He is not blushing. His heart is not going crazy. He _does not_ like the dumb alien, damn it. 

Niall chews, big blue eyes narrowing before he swallows. He makes a sour face and pushes his plate away. “I’m not really a fan of that,” he mumbles, glaring at the sushi like it’s personally offended him. 

Harry laughs. “Wow, something you _won’t_ eat? Who’d have thought the day would come?” Niall punches him in the shoulder, but laughs with him. 

Harry pays before taking Niall to get a hotdog from the vendor across the street (he eats six of them) instead. He and Niall spend the next couple hours roaming the streets, window shopping and talking. 

If Harry’s arm finds its way around Niall’s waist, it’s only because he doesn’t want to lose him in the crowds. 

\--x--

The sun is just beginning to set while they’re on the bus heading home. They’re three stops from the apartment when suddenly Niall bolts out of his seat and sprints off the bus. Harry just gapes after him for a good few seconds before he flings himself out of his seat and stumbles down the steps after him. He nearly gets caught in the bus door and mumbles curses under his breath as he fumbles onto the sidewalk. 

The bus driver spits a few choice words at him before snapping the doors closed, but Harry isn’t listening. He looks left and right, eyes frantic. He spots a flash of blonde on a nearby fire escape and runs off after him. 

“Niall!” he yells, hands cupped around his mouth. He can see the boy a good five stories up, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even look at him. Rolling his eyes – because really, he’s just ignoring him now? – Harry fumbles up the stairs after him, every step shaking the grated metal and making a horrible racket. 

He passes a lot of windows on his way up and gets a lot of curious looks. He waves awkwardly, trying not to think about how uncomfortable this is, and hopes that no one thinks he’s a complete psycho. (One girl actually screams when he passes her window and he sprints away as fast as his legs will let him).

He’s huffing by the time he reaches the roof, his breath coming out in misty puffs. Niall’s standing a little ways off, gazing up at the sky again, his eyes bright in the near dark. 

“Niall,” Harry huffs from where he’s bent in half, chest heaving. “What the hell, man?” He straightens up, walking over to the blonde and trying to tug him back to the stairs. “Come on, it’s getting dark, we have to get back to the apartment.” 

Niall shakes his head, eyes still trained to the sky. “Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Harry repeats, tugging on Niall again until the blonde looks at him. “Have you forgotten that you fucking glow in the dark?” 

Niall rolls his eyes like Harry’s the one being ridiculous. Harry would say something to that but doesn’t have time before Niall just drops to the ground, sprawling on his back and settling into the concrete. Harry spends a long moment just staring before he nods and joins him because yeah, all right, whatever – it’s not like he’s trying to keep spaceboy from being _discovered_ or anything. No big deal. 

They stay like that for a while, neither of them talking. The sun has set and Niall’s skin is alight with a soft blue glow. Harry huffs, shuffling until he’s more comfortable on the ground.

“Now that the sun has gone down and we’re officially trapped up here for the night, are you going to tell me why we’re here?” Harry asks a bit tersely. It’s fucking freezing up here. 

“Just watch,” Niall whispers. So Harry does – though he’s not happy about it and he makes this obvious by huffing and sighing as often as he can. The night gets darker and colder and Harry’s seriously contemplating his chances of catching pneumonia when Niall nudges him in the side and points up to the sky. “Look.” 

Harry looks up, brow quirked as he searches for what has Niall so excited that they’re spending the night on the roof of some strange building. 

“I don’t see anything,” he replies, squinting. Like every other night in London there’s hardly anything in the sky to see. 

“Just there.” Niall points again which really doesn’t help anything at all. 

“Can you stop being mental and just tell me what I’m supposed to be looking at already?” Harry asks, laughing just a little because this is ridiculous – the two of them freezing their asses off to see three measly stars is ridiculous. 

Niall huffs, the tip of his nose red and his cheeks gone puffy as he scrunches his brow in a pout. “There, on the right, the bright one. I can’t remember what you call it here.” 

“You mean Venus?” Harry asks in disbelief. “You dragged me up here to see Venus? You know we can see that nearly everyday, right?” 

“Yeah, but look,” Niall points again, his other hand pushing at Harry’s cheek and tilting his face to the sky. “It’s at its brightest tonight.” He watches the sky with a smile, his eyes bright and blue in the dark, the lines of his face soft. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” 

Harry wants to complain – say that it’s not worth the death he’s going to catch by morning – but just nods instead and settles into the rough concrete at his back. “Yeah, it’s alright.” He doesn’t think about how he’d agree to stare into the sun until he’s blind if it could keep Niall smiling like that.

Niall turns to him, eyes intense as he considers Harry. They’re lying beside each other, their shoulders nearly brushing, and Harry hadn’t realized how close they were until Niall’s nose is nearly brushing his and his breath is puffing warm against his cheek. 

“You can’t see it, can you?” he asks, and Harry’s grateful because for a moment there he had been considering breaking their staring match in a whole other fashion. 

“See what?”

“Everything.” 

Harry scoffs, turning his head so Niall can’t see the smile curving his lips. “Psh, listen to you, _everything_. It’s never straight answers is it, just bloody nonsense.” 

Niall giggles, “Harry,” he props himself on his elbow, leaning bodily over Harry’s chest to look into his face again, “stop it. I’m being serious.” 

“Silly alien,” Harry grins, flicking Niall across the nose, “you’re never serious.” 

Niall bats his hand away and rolls his eyes (It’s incredibly endearing and Harry has to fight the urge to wrap him up in his arms and never let him go). “Here, let me show you.” He flops back down beside him (their shoulders pressed firmly together this time) and sends Harry a grin. “Just watch.” 

He breathes in deep, his ribs expanding under his coat, and holds it for a second before letting it all out, his lips pursing as he blows into the air. And Harry shouldn’t be surprised – not after everything – when little lights dance out from between his lips and float up, up, up into the sky. Before he knows it, there’s a whole sea of them swimming in the night sky, shining and pulsing in a mass of colors and lights and brilliance. 

Among them, just to the right, is Venus and it’s nearly impossible to miss – so bright and large (nearly twenty times the size it was previously) and beautiful with it’s swirling colors and streaking lights. 

“What is this?” Harry breathes, afraid that if he blinks it’ll all disappear. 

“This is how I see it,” Niall answers and Harry looks away just long enough to see the happy grin that Niall has aimed just at him. 

“All the time?” Harry whispers in disbelief. He can’t imagine seeing something this amazing everyday. 

“Not all the time,” Niall answers, shrugging and turning back to the sky himself. “You just have to know the right way to look.” 

“Then clearly I’ve been looking all wrong,” Harry laughs. Niall laughs with him.

“Maybe I can teach you.” 

“Maybe,” Harry hums, though he doubts it. He turns to Niall, his tongue slipping over his dry lips before he speaks. “Why did you come to Earth, if this is what you were leaving behind?” 

Niall considers the question, his fingers tapping out a rhythm against the ground. Harry wonders briefly if it’s a coincidence that it matches the beat of his heart. 

“I’ve watched this planet for a long time,” Niall says, voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’ve seen civilizations rise and fall. I’ve seen bloodlines begin and end. I’ve seen love and war and life and death and I’ve watched as this entire planet fought to be where it is today.” He smiles, just a little quirk of his lips that has Harry’s heart stuttering in his chest. “You might not realize it, but you are fascinating.” 

Harry knows Niall is talking about the human race in general – even if his eyes and smile and the fingertips resting gently on Harry’s wrist imply otherwise. 

“There have got to be other planets like us out there,” Harry says, desperate to make Niall stop _looking at him like that_. The urge to touch is back and burning bright against his ribs. 

“Similar, yes,” Niall agrees, “but this one’s my favorite.” 

“Why?”

“Because you love the easiest.” 

Harry wants to laugh because of how ridiculously sappy that is; he wants to pull Niall in and press his nose into his hair and tell him how dumb he is; he wants to wrap him in his arms and tell him that he’s the most amazing person he’s even met – even if he has to use the term ‘person’ loosely. But he doesn’t do any of that. Instead, he turns back to the stars above and watches the Milky Way, only brave enough to turn his hand so that Niall’s fingers fall into place between his own. 

He falls asleep like that, with his head cushioned by the hood of his jacket, his cheeks pink from the cold, and his back already sore. There’s a good chance he’ll die of frostbite during the night, but he figures it’s worth it as he feels their hands turn warm where they’re clasped between them. 

\--x--

Harry does end up getting sick. Though it’s only a cold and not even the worst one he’s ever had. He bundles up in extra layers and eats a lot of soup and secretly enjoys the way that Niall flutters around him with soothing hands and worried eyes (it’s actually not a secret at all as all three of his roommates can clearly see how much he likes it). 

Liam makes him promise to never do that again (“it’s nearly winter, Harry, what were you thinking?”) and Louis still isn’t convinced that they hadn’t had some kind of kinky, public rendezvous. Zayn, luckily, only smiles and occasionally asks if they’d like some instant noodles or tea. 

Over the next couple weeks Niall ventures out of the house more often and Harry tries to not have a heart attack every time. And he secretly (it’s not a secret at all) likes when Niall shows up on campus for them to get lunch together or waits outside his class for him. And every night Niall shows him a different part of the universe that’s just as breathtaking as the last. 

And yeah, alright, maybe Harry’s falling for the dumb alien. But, he considers, his fingers slotted tightly with Niall’s, he could do worse. 

\--x--

Harry heaves out a sigh as he pushes the door to his flat open, one arm holding a whole load of books, the other pulling a chatting Niall by the hand. It’s finally the weekend and Harry wants nothing more than to dump his books in an unused corner of his room and eat a whole load of crisps. Maybe watch some tele. 

He’s not surprised to see Liam and Danielle on the couch. They’re not exactly dating – at least that’s what Liam says – but Harry’s walked in on them snogging enough times to not believe him. 

“Hey, Li, Dani,” he greets. Niall waves hello before dashing off to the kitchen and proceeding to pull out enough ingredients to make about ten sandwiches. 

“Hiya, Harry.” Danielle smiles from where she’s bent over the coffee table, a whole slew of papers spread out under her hands. “Who’s your friend?” 

“Uh, Niall,” Harry says, settling on abandoning his books on the counter instead. 

“Ooh,” Danielle sing-songs and Harry turns back to her with a raised brow. “So _that’s_ Niall.” She’s grinning in a way that makes Harry rather uncomfortable. “Liam’s told me all about him.”

“Maybe Liam should keep his mouth shut,” Harry says eyeing the brunette where he’s perched on the arm of the couch. 

“Hey,” Liam defends, hands raised, “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true.” 

“What are you guys doing here anyway?” Harry asks, changing the subject as Niall walks into the room. He’s got a sandwich the size of the Tower of Pisa, but Harry’s pretty much accepted that Niall’s going to eat his life savings. Dani introduces herself and Harry manages to not cover his face in shame when Niall bounds over to sit next to her to shake her hand, food still stuffed in his cheeks. 

“We’re supposed to be going to a movie, but Dani here won’t stop working,” Liam says once they’ve settled down. He says it like he’s annoyed but you can tell how fond he is of her by the soft smile that settles on his lips. 

“Oh, shush, you. It’s only one astronomy worksheet. You can wait,” Danielle scolds, sticking her tongue out at Liam who sighs and makes himself comfortable. Something tells Harry that Liam’s used to waiting around. 

Niall, who has somehow manage to wolf down his monstrosity on rye, eyes the papers littered across the table with interest, his head tilting cutely to the side. He picks up the one nearest to him. 

“This isn’t right,” he says. Danielle perks up, brow furrowed in confusion as she shifts to see what Niall’s looking at. 

“What’s not right?” she asks. 

“This.” Niall points to an answer she’d scribbled next to a constellation. “It says Ares, but that,” he points to a dot near the middle of the constellation, “that’s Steve. And this one,” he points to one on the end, “is Fat Bob. Well,” he amends, “his name’s not _really_ Fat Bob, it’s more of an inside joke that happened a long time ago in another language so I’m not really sure it would translate.”

Liam and Danielle are looking at him like he’s the littlest bit insane (which Harry thinks he might be since he _actually just said that_ ). Desperate to make an excuse, Harry lets out a boisterous laugh that has all three of them looking at him as he quickly makes his way to Niall’s side. 

“He’s hilarious, isn’t he?” he laughs, ruffling Niall’s hair. “I don’t know where he comes up with this stuff.” Danielle laughs with him, her confusion melting easily into amusement, but Liam continues to watch them with a raised brow, brown eyes speculative. 

“Well, we best be off,” Danielle says with a smile as she gathers her things. “It was lovely meeting you, Niall,” she says making the blonde positively beam. “I’ll see you ‘round, Harry.” She grabs Liam’s hand and pulls him up with her. “Come on, love,” she pecks him on the cheek, “we don’t want to miss the movie.” Liam rolls his eyes but doesn’t raise any protests as he follows her to the door. 

“Bye lads, I’ll see you later,” Liam says and Harry’s glad to see that his earlier suspicion has been replaced by excitement at the prospect of spending time with Danielle. 

Harry lets out a groan as soon as the door closes behind them, falling back onto the couch and casting Niall a withering look. 

“Really, Niall? _Really?_ Steve and Fat Bob?” he huffs. “Are you trying to give me a panic attack, you dumb alien?” But Niall doesn’t seem to hear him as he gazes at the door. “Hey, are you listening to me?”

“Are they going on a date?” Niall asks, and no, Harry assumes, he’s not listening at all. _Figures_. He sits up and pokes the blonde in the cheek earning himself a chuckle and a smile. 

“And what would you know about dating?” 

Niall shrugs. “Just what Louis’ told me.” 

Harry barks out a laugh before poking his cheek again and making his way to the kitchen for that bag of crisps he’s been craving all day. “Then clearly you don’t know anything about dating at all.” 

“Oh,” Niall says when Harry comes back, the blonde’s shoulders slumped and his pink lips titled into a frown. He looks much too sad and Harry’s actually rather annoyed that his heart drops at the sight.

“I could…show you, if you like, what a real date’s like,” Harry offers, feeling awkward and nervous because, _Christ_ , did he just ask an alien out on a date? 

“Really?” Niall asks, his big blue eyes all excited and bright, his smile positively beaming. He’d be wagging his tail if he had one. 

“Yeah, we’ll go tomorrow,” Harry says and only lifts his arm to allow Niall closer when the blonde burrows into his side and sticks his hand into the bag of crisps.

Harry tries not to think of how smug Liam and Louis are going to be later when they say ‘I told you so’.

\--x--

So Niall tells Zayn who tells Liam who tells Louis who won’t stop making kissy faces at Harry from across the room. Harry does his best to ignore him (he’s become quite skilled at it, actually) but is forced to look up when Louis starts making rather obscene slurping noises. He sends him a harsh glare that he hopes tells the other boy to kindly shut up but just sends him into a round of raucous laughter instead. 

He checks that he has his wallet, phone, and keys one last time before gathering his and Niall’s coats and heading to the door where the blonde is already waiting, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. 

Harry manages to land a swift kick to Louis’ shin as he passes and delights in the muttered string of curses that follow him out the door. 

“Have fun on your _date_!” Liam calls and Harry winces just the littlest bit.

(Harry had tried to tell him to not call it that, but well, that’s exactly what it is so there’s really not much he can do about it).

If he’s being honest, Harry had spent the better part of the morning making himself sick with nerves. He’s been on dates before, but he’s never been someone’s first date and the idea that he could muck it up entirely makes him all kinds of nervous. 

He had almost talked himself out of it entirely before he had walked into the living room to see Niall eating out of a tub of ice cream, chocolate cream dotted on the tip of his nose and an easy smile gracing his lips and Harry had remembered that this is Niall he’s taking on a date and honestly, he could take them both dumpster diving and Niall’d still look at him like he’s giving him a life time supply of pasta. 

He’d also studiously reminded himself that Niall’s an alien and he wouldn’t know a bad date if it came up and smacked him in the face so it’s not like it matters anyway. 

(Though it does matter because – _damn it_ – Harry cares and he wants it to be perfect).

Niall takes off as soon as the door is closed behind them, his hand gripping onto Harry’s as they race down the stairs. They’re on the street before Harry manages to wrangle Niall to a stop, laughing since the blonde’s cheeks have already gone pink in the cold.

“Slow down, you psycho. You forgot your coat.” Niall’s cheeks go even pinker in embarrassment as he shrugs into his jacket and Harry laughs before taking a beanie out of his pocket and slipping it over Niall’s hair. “There, better?” he asks and Niall nods, smiling. 

They start walking to the bus stop, Niall’s hand slipping into Harry’s about half way there. “Where are we going?” he asks, looking up at Harry with bright blue eyes. 

“It’s a surprise,” Harry says, grinning when Niall pulls on his hand and shakes his head (he really looks much too adorable in Harry’s hat – _he should sue_ ).

“No, tell me. Please?” He grins, showing all his teeth. Harry chuckles and pulls him into his side, his hand finding it’s way to Niall’s narrow waist. 

“Nope,” he taps Niall on the nose, “you’ll just have to wait and find out.”

Niall starts up a guessing game (which really is pointless because he doesn’t really know anything about London so he’s only guessing things like the school or the pub or that little store they pass when they walk to get Thai food) as they get on the bus and Harry doesn’t know if he’s happy or annoyed that he doesn’t mind. He actually quite likes the blonde babbling in his ear. He even plays along, amusing the blonde with a smile the whole ride. 

Harry gets Niall to close his eyes before they get there. He gets a few nasty glares as he takes his time leading the boy off the bus, but he’s glad he did it when he sees the absolute pleasure that overtakes Niall’s face when he tells him it’s okay to look. 

The park isn’t anything too amazing; there’s some trees and grass and a few water features further down the path, but Harry knows that Niall’s never seen anything like it and he takes pleasure in the fact that he’s the one who gets to show it to him. 

“It’s amazing,” Niall breathes. He’s turning in circles trying to see everything that he can. “Where are we?” 

“Hyde park,” Harry answers, grabbing Niall’s hand to stop him from spinning – he’s getting dizzy just watching. 

“Hyde park,” Niall repeats, following Harry as he leads him down the path. He wants to show Niall the fountains. “Why are there no buildings here? Is this where the trees live? Do they not allow buildings?” 

“No,” Harry laughs, playing along, “no buildings allowed. Just trees here.” Niall nods like he’s processing the information. They only get a little ways down the path (a time spent in silence as Niall stares in awe around them) before a food cart comes into view and Harry steers them toward it. 

He gets them both a corndog and would order a lemonade to share (that’s what they do in every sappy romance movie he’s ever seen) but he knows Niall will finish his in about two seconds so gets them each a large instead. 

He pulls Niall to a bench under a nearby tree to eat and wishes the cart had been selling tea instead since it’s a bit brisk out today. He glances up to the grey sky and though it’s not unusual weather for London, he really hopes this doesn’t mean it’s going to rain. 

Niall shivers and leans into his side and Harry is very aware of how close they are and how easily he could lean over and press a kiss to Niall’s lips and how that might actually be okay since they’re on a date. He’s considering doing it, his stomach doing flips, and is about eighty percent done convincing himself that he should, when Niall suddenly bolts out from under of his arm and is racing across the path. 

Harry just watches him go because, dear Christ, he’s legitimately chasing a squirrel. 

He watches him circle a tree for a good couple of minutes before deciding that maybe he should step in. People are beginning to stare. 

“Niall,” he says, tugging the blonde by his sleeve and pulling him away from the tree, “you need to stop now.” 

“I think I saw a puppy,” Niall says, pointing up to where the squirrel is perched high up on a branch. “It climbed up that tree. I didn’t know dogs could climb.”

“They can’t. That’s a squirrel. It probably lives in that tree.” Harry starts them back down the path and is happy when they round a corner and get away from all the curious eyes. 

“It lives in a tree?” Niall asks, astonished. “Can we live in a tree?” 

Harry pretends that his heart doesn’t skip a beat when Niall says ‘we’ (because that would be ridiculous) and just shakes his head. “No, people don’t live in trees.” 

“We could,” Niall says, voice small and hopeful (the word charming comes to mind, but Harry dismisses that immediately), his fingers finding Harry’s again, “if we wanted.” 

“Maybe if we wish really, really hard,” Harry says and can’t help but smile when he sees the playful spark in Niall’s eyes. 

He takes him to the fountains and Niall loves it. He nearly jumps in before Harry grabs him (half because they’re not supposed to and half because he’s afraid the boy would never be able to get warm again). 

They spend quite a long time just walking around looking at all the different statues of turtles and dolphins and mermaids. They come across two more food carts and Harry buys them some popcorn and two giant steaming cups of hot cocoa. 

Niall never stops moving: hands gesturing as he talks, feet carrying him this way and that, but he doesn’t leave Harry’s side and the brunette is surprised by the fact that he’s not surprised at all when he can’t stop smiling. 

Eventually, they make their way over to the other side of the park where the Serpentine Lake is and Harry surprises Niall with renting a small rowboat. 

“We’re getting in that?” Niall asks, looking skeptical as Harry pushes him toward a small, white, wooden boat. 

“Yup,” Harry says, shoving just a bit harder when Niall digs his heels in.

“Are you sure it’s safe? It doesn’t really look safe,” Niall babbles, doing his best to impersonate an immovable wall. He’s doing a right good job of it too since Harry can’t get him to budge an inch. 

“Of course I’m sure,” Harry huffs. “Look, there’s other people doing it and nothing’s happened to them.” He points out to the other boats already on the lake, their occupants smiling and laughing and looking like they’re having a great time. Harry musses it’s probably because they don’t have to deal with dumb Martians who won’t get in the boat. 

“But what if we do it wrong?” Niall asks, worried, but he lets Harry lead him into the boat anyway. 

“What’s there to do wrong? You sit, you float; it’s a boat, not a rocket.” Niall still looks worried so Harry gives him a smile as he sits him in the boat, pausing to run a reassuring thumb down his jaw. “It’ll be fine.”

“What if we fall in?” Niall’s eyes go wide in panic as Harry pushes them off from the dock. 

“Then we get wet.” Harry shrugs, focusing on rowing them out. 

“But I can’t swim,” Niall mutters, his nervous shifting causing the boat to rock. 

“Christ, would you sit still? If we fall in I’ll just carry you to shore,” Harry says, and is surprised by how much this seems to calm Niall down. (Honestly, he’d just said it to shut him up).

It’s a bit more awkward than Harry had thought it would be to try and maneuver inside a small boat wearing three separate layers to keep the cold out. He’s got on gloves and a scarf and he hadn’t anticipated how cramped it would feel sitting bundled up in the middle of the lake. 

The sky has only gotten darker since they’d left the flat and Harry’s beginning to think that maybe taking Niall on a romantic boat ride wasn’t the best decision he’s ever made. (He never has been good at being romantic, but he’s trying, damn it, and he thinks that should count for something). 

He hauls in the oars, moving slowly so as not to rock the boat and places them along the floor. His knees knock into Niall’s and the contact brings a flush to his cheeks. 

Niall’s taken to peering over the edge, his movements cautious as he leans to the side. Harry takes a moment to just look. Niall’s always been attractive – what with the startlingly blue eyes and easy smiles and small, appealing frame – but he’s never been as undeniably stunning as he is right now. 

He wants to memorize this moment. He wants to imprint Niall with his rosy cheeks and crystal eyes; he never wants to forget the way his blonde hair curls out from under Harry’s beanie or the way that his eyelashes dust lightly across his cheeks; doesn’t think he could ever forget how perfect he looks bundled up in Harry’s coat and scarf.

He looks like he belongs here, with him – and Harry really likes the idea of that.

They drift in silence for a while, Niall seemingly forgetting his earlier fears and just having fun running his fingers through the water and watching the fish. Harry watches him with a smile of his own, content in the quiet. 

“Harry,” Niall voices, looking embarrassed as he looks at Harry through his lashes, his head turned to the side where a gaggle of geese are drifting through the water, “am I doing this right?” 

“You’re doing great,” Harry assures. “Haven’t tipped us over yet.” 

“No.” Niall shakes his head, looking even more embarrassed than before. “I mean the date. Am I doing it right?” 

“Yeah.” Harry shrugs. “Maybe it’s been a bit unconventional,” he considers their earlier conversation about space (Niall had been astounded to learn that it’s impossible for humans to live there) and how humans should really learn to function without oxygen – Niall had been very adamant about it and Harry had promised to try, “but you’re doing great.” 

Niall nods, his fingers fiddling in his lap. “And what would be the _conventional_ way?” 

“Just the boring bits, really; talking about our interests and pasts and whatnot.”

Niall shuffles closer, his hand finding its way to Harry’s knee and Harry has to remind himself to breathe. 

“I don’t think any part of you is boring.” 

“Stop being sappy,” Harry mutters, reaching out to flick Niall across the nose because he’s awkward and panicked and he doesn’t know how to deal with the way his heart is pounding in his chest much less how to respond appropriately. 

“Louis told me you’re supposed to be sappy on a date,” Niall says, smiling in a way that soon has Harry smiling as well. 

“I told you Louis doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Harry grips Niall’s hand and delights in the way that Niall wiggles his fingers between his. 

There’s a tinkling sound coming from the lake that has Niall spinning around, curious. Harry looks too, the pattering sound getting louder before a fat drop of rain lands square on Harry’s head and he has enough time to curse the entire world – he’s got shit luck, really – before the sky opens up and the rain pours down in waves. 

There are shouts from the other boats as they all work to paddle back to the docks. Harry mutters the whole way – it takes much longer than he’d like it to – and Niall won’t stop laughing, even when they’re finally on land again and Harry’s ushering him along with the rest of the crowd to a small café a little ways away. 

There are people crammed under the awning and even more people crammed inside, but Harry manages to worm his way past everyone and find them a table in a corner. They shed their coats which are absolutely drenched and unwind their scarves and even without their dripping coats they’re still damp and cold and Harry’s sure he looks absolutely miserable with his hair hanging down his face in strings, but Niall’s smiling so he assumes it can’t be all bad. 

He orders them two large mugs of tea and settles into his chair with a weary sigh. 

“Sorry, guess I should have checked the weather.” He taps at the table, awkward and ashamed because everything’s ruined now, isn’t it? (He didn’t even bring an umbrella. He’s been in London for nearly three years now and he forgot the umbrella – _dumb_ ).

“No, this is perfect.” Niall takes a sip from his tea, the steam swirling with his breath. “I want to thank you; for this and for everything else. You’ve been amazing this entire time and you’ve taught me so much since I got here. This is everything I’ve ever wanted and more.” He looks at Harry from over the rim of his cup. “Have you thought any more about what you want to wish for?”

Harry gets a vision of blonde hair and blue eyes and a notion that feels an awful lot like forever, but just shakes his head, a mumbled “no, not yet,” slipping out of his mouth. 

“Good,” Niall says (which makes Harry happier than it should) and smiles and settles more comfortably into his seat. “I’d like it if we did this right, so, can we do the boring bits now?” Niall asks and Harry agrees because he’s long past being able to tell him no. 

Harry tells Niall about Cheshire and how he used to be in a band and that he’s going to school to get his degree in English to become an editor. 

In turn, Niall tells Harry about the galaxies he’s visited and the planets he’s seen. He even tries to explain how Fat Bob got his name, but Niall was right when he said it wouldn’t translate well and Harry gets lost halfway through the story. 

They talk for a long while, waiting out the rain and drinking multiple cups of tea. (Niall eats three plates of biscuits as well, which earns them a strange look from the waitress).

They try and wait until the rain has gone, but time slips by easily as they talk and laugh and before they know it the sun is nearly setting and Harry’s ushering them out of the shop. 

The rain is lighter than it was before but their coats are still damp despite the absolute puddles they had dripped onto the floor so they run all the way to the bus stop, luckily getting there just as the bus is pulling up. The driver looks at them disdainfully as they climb in dripping wet, but doesn’t say anything as they collapse into a seat, their hands knit together and shoved into Harry’s coat pocket. 

They stop off at a small Italian place that Harry was going to take Niall to before the rain changed their plans (they have those giant meatballs that the blonde loves and they have endless breadsticks which Harry thinks is really important when trying to feed a bottomless pit and Louis swears they have the best cannoli) and grab a few plates to go. 

They both eat on the bus back to the dorms (they’re starved despite the biscuits from before) and make it back just as the rain is drizzling to a stop and the sun is in it’s last stages before setting. 

They walk up the stairs hand in hand, Niall’s head rested sleepily on Harry’s shoulder. No one’s in the common room when they stumble in and Harry’s grateful. He doesn’t think he could handle Louis right now. 

Dating really takes it out of you. 

They go to his room and Harry immediately throws off his jacket and toes off his shoes. He’s already pulling out some dry clothes when he notices Niall hovering near the door, his fingers twisting the damp beanie and his feet fidgeting nervously. 

“What is it?” Harry asks, genuinely concerned. Had he done something wrong? 

“We can’t sleep together tonight,” Niall says, looking unsure as he glances from Harry to the bed. 

“What?” Harry says, surprised. Sure, he has thoughts of kissing the other boy every ten seconds or so, but he hadn’t had any plans to do _that_. Had he somehow implied that he had? Does Niall even know what he’s saying?

“Louis says we can’t sleep together until the third date.” Niall nods like that’s that and crosses his arm and Harry wants to laugh because it’s so adorable (he restrains, however, because he doubts the blonde would take kindly to Harry laughing at him). 

“I don’t think that’s the kind of sleeping he was talking about,” Harry says but Niall just shakes his head, his eyes sleepy but stubborn.

“I want to do it right.”

Harry sighs, but nods. (He’s tired and much too used to indulging the blonde to try and argue). “Alright,” he gathers his clothes and heads for the door, “you sleep in here, I’ll spend the night in Zayn’s room.”

“Harry,” Niall says, grabbing his wrist before he can close the door. He leans up, having to go onto his toes for leverage, and plants a kiss on Harry’s cheek. “Good night.”

Harry doesn’t even get time to respond before a blushing Niall slams the door in his face, so he shuffles wordless to the room across the way. He doesn’t bother knocking and just lets himself in. 

“Hey,” Zayn greets, glancing up from the computer on his lap, surprise quirking his brow. “What’s up? Need a condom?” he asks with a smirk. 

Harry shakes his head with a huff, stripping quickly and changing into dry clothes. He ignores the other boy’s protests to leaving his wet clothes on the floor and climbs onto the bed beside him. 

“I was kicked out of my room,” he mumbles, settling under the covers and doing his best not to pout. This wasn’t exactly how he wanted his day to end. 

“What’d you do?” Zayn asks and there’s a hint of protectiveness to his voice that Harry’s sure is meant for Niall.

“Nothing. Blame Louis.” 

Zayn seems to accept that without question, just nodding and settling back into his pillows. He nods to the movie paused on his screen. “It’s _Die Hard_. If you have a problem with that you can go hog Liam’s bed.” 

Harry shakes his head and mumbles that it’s fine. Honestly, he doesn’t stay awake long enough to see much of it. He falls asleep wishing he was curled around Niall in his own bed and wondering how Niall would react if he were to invite him home for Christmas.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry spends the better part of the next day trying not to listen to Louis as he prattles on about how cute Niall and Harry are as a couple while also ignoring Liam who’s watching him with suggestive brows – a truly powerful sight considering the size of the boy’s eyebrows.

Harry also spends a large amount of his time reminding himself that even if Niall is some kind of Martian, he probably doesn’t appreciate being stared at and that Harry should probably avert his eyes and go back to doing his homework.

Niall himself seems blissfully unaware of any of this, which Harry finds exuberantly unfair since Niall’s been around long enough to earn himself some good-natured ribbing. (He momentarily considers that this might actually be the case when he walks in on Niall blushing like a tomato with a smirking Zayn seated beside him, but maintains his huffy conviction when, instead of joining in, Louis offers to take Niall shopping – on Harry’s dime of course).

After a day spent doing more simultaneous blushing and scowling than Harry’s convinced he’s ever done before, it’s an extra kick to his already bruised ego when Niall once again refuses to let him sleep in his own bed. 

With a few choice curse words thrown in the general direction of Louis’ room, Harry finds himself once again crawling into bed with a rather bemused Zayn. 

Throughout the week Harry spends his nights jumping between Liam and Zayn’s rooms (he avoids Louis’ because he’s a prat) and on Friday he takes Niall to lunch as their second date (fish and chips because they haven’t had them since that first day and Niall’s been craving them) and then to the movies that same night for their third date. 

Louis argues as soon as he hears (which is all of four minutes after they get home – for Christ’s sake) that you can’t have two dates in one day, but Harry just hits him rather hard in the arm and tells him to shut his mouth because he wants to sleep in his own bed in peace. 

He also wants Louis to never speak again because he keeps asking Harry for details (apparently that’s what bros are for) and Harry is ashamed to admit that he has yet to dredge up the balls to make a move – any kind of move really. He feels quite pathetic about it. 

\--x--

It’s not unusual for Harry to dream about Niall – after all, nowadays, the blonde occupies most of Harry’s thoughts (not that he’d ever admit it). When he does dream about Niall, it’s the cute little things about the blonde that feature the most; like his smile or his laugh or maybe, _sometimes_ , his pink lips that Harry can’t help but want to kiss. 

So it’s actually not all that surprising that Harry assumes he’s dreaming when he wakes up to Niall suddenly appearing on his lap, smiling down at him and twirling Harry’s curls around his finger. Harry’s sleep addled brain can’t process much beyond _Niall_ and how beautiful he is and _wow, this must be a dream_ because for one, Niall hasn’t gotten up before him in a good month (despite being a hyperactive alien, it turns out Niall isn’t much of a morning person which has only gotten worse over the last couple of weeks), and two, _this is just much too nice._

Niall’s talking, voice excited and endearing, his hand that isn’t tangled against Harry’s nape gesturing to where the window is letting in early morning light, but Harry can’t really make out what he’s saying. All Harry can makes sense of is the weight of Niall’s body on top of his own and the fact that Niall’s pretty, pink lips are a lot closer to him than usual and, _yeah_ , kissing him seems like a good idea. 

It doesn’t take much to close the distance between them; they’re so close, already. His mouth moves slowly against Niall’s, more a light press of lips than anything else, his sleepy mind keeping it simple. Niall doesn’t actually kiss him back, but just blinks at him with bright, wide eyes. 

Harry’s about to kiss him again because, _hey_ , Dream-Niall has never not kissed him back before, when there’s a ruckus from the common room and suddenly Louis’ bursting into the room and, _shit, okay, maybe this isn’t a dream after all._

Louis’ decked out in what appears to be his snow jacket, a colorful, knit hat rested on his head. He frowns at Niall, his hands shoved on his hips. “Hey, you’re supposed to be waking him up, not seducing him.” He claps his hands before scuttling back into the living room, a quick “chop, chop, Blondie, we’ve got things to do,” thrown over his shoulder. 

Harry goes still, frozen because _holy shit_ he just kissed Niall – their first kiss – while he was half asleep and thought he was dreaming and, _fuck_ , that is not how he had wanted that to go. (He doesn’t even want to address the fact that Niall hadn’t even kissed him back because, yeah). 

Niall, however, isn’t quite as shocked by this revelation as Harry is because soon enough he’s jumping off the bed. He’s smiling again, pulling on Harry’s arm to get him to follow. “Come on.”

“What?” Harry says, confused, as Niall grips tight onto his wrist and races to the window (much faster and much more gracefully than Harry who’s stumbling behind him). 

“Look,” Niall says, throwing the window open and letting in a whole lot of cold. “The world’s gone white.” Niall turns back to look at Harry, his hand pulling him close again when Harry tries to back away (he’s only in his boxer briefs and really not willing to deal with frostbite). “Louis says it’s snow.” 

“That’s great, Ni, but it’s freezing,” Harry complains, reaching out to close the window and nearly falling over when Niall flings himself half way out of it, reaching to scoop a handful of snow from the ledge below. 

“But, look,” Niall repeats, shoving his hands just under Harry’s nose, the icy mound dripping and landing on Harry’s bare toes. “Isn’t it amazing?” 

Harry’s about to respond when he’s distracted by Niall’s mouth, which is peeking out from behind the snow in his hands. Harry considers agreeing with him so Niall will leave Harry alone and let him _get it together_. His whole mind feels a bit numb. He kissed Niall. _He kissed him_. He really needs a moment to process that and Niall just standing there looking all kinds of adorable really isn’t helping. 

“It’s great,” he mumbles, stepping back, putting some distance between them. He can’t seem to get a grip on his thoughts, their kiss all he can think about. Harry hadn’t meant to do that. He hadn’t meant to go and kiss some dumb alien. Sure, he wanted to – still wants to – but the whole thing is a lot more embarrassing than he would have liked and well, that’s his life, isn’t it? 

“Harry…?” Niall starts, but is quickly cut off by Harry who seems to have found his voice again.

“It was no big deal, you know,” he blurts, going for casual but missing it by a fair margin. “What we did, what happened this morning, when you woke me up.” He goes for a one-shoulder shrug but, by the way Niall’s eyeing him, he’s pretty sure it looks more like a nervous twitch. 

Niall’s eyelashes flutter rather distractingly against his cheeks. “You mean when you kissed me?” And Harry is thrown off because he hadn’t expected Niall to be so blunt. (Honestly, a part of him wondered if Niall even knew what kissing was, but he should have known better. Niall had watched about a hundred rom coms with Liam, after all). 

“Yeah, I mean, I guess, technically, it was a kiss,” Harry stutters, flushing as Niall watches him, his blonde head tilted adorably to the side in curiosity. “But it wasn’t _really_ a kiss.”

“It wasn’t?” Niall asks, confused because Harry’s a dumbass and that’s a really fucking confusing thing to say to someone you were locking lips with a couple minutes ago. 

“Well, I mean, it was – it was more of a greeting. Like, you know, a ‘hey, hello, you’re someone I enjoy, it’s good to see you’ kind of kiss,” Harry flounders, his hands gesturing much more than he’d like them to. 

Niall looks even more confused than before. “I did not know there was that kind of kiss.” 

“Well, now you know. There is. And that’s what it was. So – like, you know, it was no big deal.” This has got to be just about the dumbest lie Harry’s ever told, but, hey, maybe this way Niall will forget it ever happened and when Harry finally gets around to kissing him for real, Niall will be able to call _that_ his first kiss (like he should). 

Harry probably would have rambled on for a bit longer – because he’s a complete fucking idiot and Niall _does thing to him_ – if not for Louis interrupting. 

“Christ, you still aren’t dressed?” He’s giving them a glare from the doorway, his eyes rolling in a way that makes it obvious he thinks they’re both children. “You,” he points at Niall who looks sheepish as he dumps what little is left of the snow out the window, “go get clothes from Zayn. And you,” he points as Harry, “get dressed already.” 

“Where are we going?” Harry asks, doing his best to seem calm and collected as Niall scuttles out of the room. 

“It’s the first snow, mate. Like we’d miss that?” 

\--x--

Liam gets a snowball to the face the minute they walk out the door, which quickly escalates to a full on war. Harry does his best to not get absolutely pummeled (hand eye coordination is so not his thing) as they sprint up and down the sidewalks. 

Eventually, after getting more than one bystander with a rogue shot, they decide to take their fight to a small children’s park nearby. There are kids all around them and Harry feels just the littlest bit ridiculous being the tallest person in a sea of little legs and even littler hands, but figures it doesn’t matter so much when he spends most of his time either huddled down for cover or ammo.

It’s also unbearably cold. Harry’s lived in England all his life, which means he should be used to the brisk winds and freezing snow, but he’s still shivering even with four layers and mittens. 

They run around for a while – Harry doing little more than freezing his ass off – before the Cheshire boy decides to take shelter behind a tree, arms crossed over his chest in an attempt to get warm. He’s been pelted with so many snowballs that he’s fairly certain he’s housing an entire snowman down his back. 

Zayn goes running by, a well aimed throw getting Harry on the neck and adding to the absolute mountain that’s sliding down his shirt. Harry curls more into himself, frowning because this is all just way too cold and wet and awful. 

He resigns to freezing to death and curls into himself as much as he can, his knees drawn up to his chin and his arms looped around his stomach. 

He has a brief moment to consider that, if he’s going to die, at least he got to kiss Niall before he goes. Granted, he had talked Niall out of thinking it was an _actual_ kiss which probably wasn’t his smoothest move and yeah, no, nevermind, he definitely doesn’t want to go out on that note. 

Next thing he knows, Niall’s sliding to a stop in front of him, dropping to his knees beside Harry without a word and beginning construction on a rudimentary wall. 

“What are you doing?” Harry asks, trying to blow warmth onto his hands but even his breath seems to be coming out cold. 

“Building a fort,” Niall answers, not pausing in his work. “Zayn built us one over there, but you don’t have one yet.” He throws a smile over his shoulder that’s bright and airy. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he digs his hands into the snow. 

“Oh, well, alright,” Harry says. He doesn’t offer to help because for one, Niall appears to be a fort building genius and Harry would probably be more harm than help, and for two, Harry’s hands are so cold he doesn’t think he could even use them at this point. 

“Oh,” Niall says, blinking like he’s suddenly remembered something and sitting back on his heels, his mouth formed into an adorable little ‘o’. He swivels to Harry and, without so much as a warning, pushes Harry’s hands aside and leans in to press a kiss to his mouth. Harry’s back straightens in shock. The contact only lasts for a second before Niall’s turning to continue his snowy mission. 

Harry’s positive he’s gaping. 

“What was that?” It’s barely a whisper and Harry hadn’t even been aware that he was the one who said it until Niall turns back to him. 

“Did I not do it right?” he asks, a frown pulling at his lips. 

“Do what?” 

“The hello kiss,” Niall says, “did I not do it right?” Niall’s eyes lower to look at Harry’s lips and Harry doesn’t have a chance to respond before Niall’s catching his chin between his fingers, concern marring his face. “Harry, your lips have gone blue. Are you alright?” 

There’s a second where Harry can’t even process what Niall’s asking because _what?_ but then he remembers that he’s absolutely freezing and, yeah, that doesn’t really surprise him. 

“Just a little cold,” Harry gets out, the cold making his teeth knock together. Niall blinks at him owlishly before suddenly he’s unwinding his scarf and looping it around Harry’s neck, shifting it so it’s covering Harry’s blue lips and sloping over his nose. He shrugs off his coat next, settling it over Harry’s knees. “Whoa, whoa,” Harry breathes, moving to push the coat back at Niall. “I can’t take this.” 

Niall only shoves it back over him, standing up and calling a quick “be right back” as he goes sprinting off. Harry waits a good ten seconds before giving in and burrowing under Niall’s coat, surprised by how much it actually helps. 

He looks up when two sets of feet stop in front of him, Zayn and Niall standing over him.

“Hey there, buddy, I hear someone’s a little cold?” Zayn simpers in a ridiculous baby talk that has Harry scowling up at him. 

“Fuck you,” he mumbles into Niall’s scarf and he knows Zayn hears him when the boy starts laughing. 

“Come on,” Zayn motions for Harry to stand up, “we were going to head in soon anyway. Liam’s got class in a bit.” Harry grabs at Zayn’s offered hand and doesn’t feel at all apologetic when the Bradford boy groans as Harry does his best to pull his arm out of his socket as he gets to his feet. 

“You okay?” Niall asks, worming in close and pressing his side against Harry’s. He’s warm and comforting and Harry finds himself pulling Niall closer, his face pressing into the warmth of Niall’s neck. There’s a slight chance that he’s hiding more than trying to get warm, but he totally kissed his kinda-not-really boyfriend twice today and he’s pretty sure it shows on his face (and Louis is especially good at reading Harry’s faces). 

“I’ll be fine,” he assures, humming contentedly when Niall starts pawing at his flushed cheeks. 

The walk back to the flat is arduous and Harry’s pretty sure he’s leaving a trail of water on the salted sidewalks. Luckily, they don’t live far away and with enough huffing and whining he gets Liam to practically carry him. 

(Niall had offered but Harry was sure the only way Niall would be able to support his weight is if he turns out to have super alien strength. Harry doesn’t have the energy to deal with that right now).

Liam dumps him on the floor as soon as they’re back, each boy retreating to his own room to warm up. Niall looks at Harry where he’s sprawled on the ground and allowing the warmth of the apartment to sink into his limbs. 

“Come on,” Niall says, smiling kindly and pulling Harry off the ground. 

He leads him by the hand to Harry’s room where he helps him peel off what feels like a good fifty pounds worth of wet clothes. Niall shrugs off a few of his own layers as well and Harry has to avert his eyes because it’s much easier to imagine pulling Niall’s body against his own – sharing body heat and smoothing his hands down pale skin – than he’d like to admit. 

Harry’s still shivering, standing in his room in nothing but his boxers, and Niall gives him a considering look from where he’s seated on the end of the bed, his fingers caught up in his shoe laces. He stands up, long, pale fingers reaching out to run down the skin of Harry’s arm, his touch blossoming a whole river of goose-bumps.

Niall frowns. “You’re still cold.” 

Green eyes follow the path that Niall’s fingers take, running up and down his arm languidly, comfortably. Harry’s voice is weak when he speaks. “Nothing a hot shower won’t fix.” He doesn’t make a move for the door, though, just stands there, content to let this moment last for as long as it can. 

Niall hums, momentarily running his other hand across the skin just under Harry’s bellybutton. The touch sends warmth pooling in Harry’s gut and he’s almost relieved when Niall moves to walk past him. “I’ll make us some tea.” 

Niall slips out the door leaving Harry to pick out some dry clothes and make his way to the communal bathroom – thoughts of Niall clouding his mind. Zayn catches his eye on the way and shoots him a grin like he can see exactly what Harry’s thinking. 

Harry darts into the bathroom quickly. 

He takes his time in the shower, his limbs moving automatically as he thinks over the last month or so that Niall’s been with them. He thinks of all the times that Niall’s smiled, all the times he’s laughed, all the times he’s pushed into his side – wriggled his way under his arm and behind his ribs and right into his heart. He wonders when Niall went from being the annoying yet endearing Martian to the bright-eyed boy that Harry can’t image going a day without. 

Harry scrubs the soap from his hair, determined to put these thoughts aside for later, refusing to believe that he’s so far gone for some alien that he’s barely managed to kiss once (the first doesn’t really count as much of a kiss and he’s refusing to count the second one at all).

Harry shuts off the water with a sigh and exits the bathroom with a cloud of steam trailing out after him. Zayn glances at him over the back of the couch, lifting up an Xbox controller and smiling easily. 

“Wanna play a couple rounds?” 

“Sure,” Harry smiles, “I’ll see if Niall wants to join.” 

Harry pushes into his room, his question ready to roll off his tongue, when he stops. There are two cups of tea still steaming on the bedside table; Niall curled up on top of the bed beside them, asleep. Niall doesn’t usually sleep before it’s dark out, but they did do an awful lot of running around (even Harry’s tired and he did more complaining about the cold than actual running).

Harry picks up his cup (his is the yellow one because Niall always uses the green one – he had said once that it reminds him of Harry’s eyes), bending to pull the comforter over the sleeping boy and to leave a kiss on blonde hair before joining Zayn on the couch. 

“Niall not interested?” Zayn asks. 

Harry shakes his head, picks up his controller, and does his best to shove down the growing ball of anxiety clogging his throat. 

\--x--

The next few days are full of ‘hey, hello, you’re someone I enjoy, it’s good to see you’ kisses. They start off simple enough: Niall kissing him when he gets home or when they meet up to go out to lunch or sometimes in the morning. But, after a couple days – and Harry’s not sure what brought on the change – Niall starts kissing him when he finishes him homework, or when he gets back from grabbing a snack from the kitchen, or when he gets back from the bathroom. 

They’re simple kisses – hearty little smooches that have more gusto than anything else, but they’re definitely enough that the others pick up on them and Harry can feel the word vomit of ‘it’s not what you think, I’m sorry I’m a terrible person, stop staring at me’ getting stuck in his throat. 

And despite the fact that this entire _thing_ is all built on a web of Harry’s horribly woven lies and sometimes gives him (what he’s assuming is psychosomatic) heartburn, it doesn’t pose too much of a problem. At least, not until later in the week when Niall seems to decide that the ‘hey, hello, you’re someone I enjoy, it’s good to see you’ kisses should be extended to their friends as well. 

Harry and Niall are sitting on the couch in the common room, Harry’s legs thrown up on the coffee table and Niall pressed into his side, his feet dangling off over the armrest. 

Niall had been asleep when Harry got home but it’d hadn’t been long before he woke up, pressed a kiss to Harry’s lips, and asked if they could watch the footie match that’s on the tele. 

Harry is considering going into the kitchen for a snack (Niall had eaten all of his crisps already, the little monster) when the front door swings open, Zayn already talking as he enters. 

“Mates, please tell me we don’t have plans to go out tonight. I have every intention of ordering Chinese, sitting my fine arse on the couch, and playing some good, gory video games.” Zayn walks into view, looking a bit strung out (he hadn’t even styled his hair today). He smiles when he sees them though, opening his arms to accept the hug that Niall’s already lunging across the room to give him. 

What Zayn isn’t expecting – and neither is Harry, for that matter – is for Niall to get a hand behind the Bradford boy’s head and pull him down to smack a kiss onto his lips. 

Harry just about has an aneurysm; his mind racing with thoughts of _hey, whoa, back the fuck off_ , Niall is _Harry’s_ alien. Something that feels an awful lot like jealousy swirls in his stomach and it feels like a millennium (even though it only lasts a second, if that) that Niall’s lips are pressed to Zayn’s. 

Niall pulls back with a wet smack, a smile curving his mouth, pleased with himself. 

Zayn blinks owlishly, surprise written clear on his face. He clears his throat, “Well, uh, it’s nice to see you too?” 

Niall just smiles some more, clearly glad to have gotten his message across, his arms still wrapped loosely around Zayn’s shoulders. And yeah, Harry’s seen about enough of that. 

_“Ni,”_ Harry calls, his voice much sharper than he’d like, “why don’t you go order the food?” Niall nods and skips right out of the room. Both Harry and Zayn watch him go. 

“So, did I…miss something?” Zayn asks, hesitant, like he’s worried Harry will be angry with him (which makes sense because, despite the fact that Harry hasn’t actually said anything, his friends have witnessed Niall’s latest habit of kissing Harry every chance he gets and the term _boyfriend_ has become quite common amongst their group). Harry wishes he was mad – maybe wishes he could hit Zayn at least once if just to stop his insides from boiling – but it’s his own fault that Niall’s going around handing out kisses like candy. 

Harry starts messing with the volume on the remote in an attempt to seem nonchalant and not like he’s fuming over the sight of his best mate kissing the boy he’s kinda, sorta, maybe in a relationship with. “It’s just something he’s picked up from television,” he dismisses. It’s a crap excuse but it’s better than the ‘you know, aliens, what are you gonna do?’ that he had been considering, and it’s certainly better than admitting that he had been a complete loser who lied his way out of an unintentional kiss. 

Zayn doesn’t necessarily look like he believes him, but, thankfully, doesn’t argue either. 

Zayn eyes him oddly when Niall comes back into the room and kisses them _both_ (despite Zayn’s jerky attempts at dodging) yet again. Harry absolutely refuses to admit that he’s pouting. 

The same thing happens later on with Louis and Liam. Liam seems genuinely worried – he keeps giving Harry these confused, sad eyes like he’s worried Niall and Harry’s relationship is falling apart and there’s nothing he can do – while Louis seems to actually enjoy it. 

Harry is decidedly not jealous.

Harry endures in silence for exactly two days. Or, rather, he sulks around for two days before he walks in on Niall engaging in a rather enthusiastic snog with a squirming Zayn (the boy had apparently brought home a pizza and gained Niall’s favor) and decides that this has gone on long enough.

He thinks he must make some kind of sound – possibly something low and menacing, probably something that sounded more like a cat that had it’s tail stepped on – because Zayn’s eyes snap up to his immediately, wide and startled, breaking the kiss with a firm shove to Niall’s shoulders. Niall only smiles, which riles Harry up even more.

“Harry-” Zayn starts, but doesn’t get to finish as Harry cuts him off.

“You,” Harry points to Niall who by now has picked up on the tension in the room and is looking increasingly concerned, “come with me.” Harry grips onto the blonde’s wrist and drags Niall back to their room and slams the door behind them. 

A thick, cloying silence settles around them, Niall shifting uncomfortably. “Are you-”

“What was that?” Harry snaps, his chest tight with what he knows, and refuses to admit, is jealousy. He’s breathing more heavily than he’d like, anger heating his chest despite the fact that he knows Niall hadn’t meant any harm. 

“What was what?”

“That,” Harry’s arms flail in the general direction of the door, his hands gesturing in ways that even he doesn’t understand, “with Zayn.”

Niall looks at him from under his lashes, confusion and worry swirling deep in his blue eyes. “I was just saying hi.” 

Harry’s eyebrows dip down in frustration, his arms moving to pull Niall closer, the blonde tripping over his own feet. Harry’s grip is firm where his hand rests on the small of Niall’s back. “Well don’t.”

“But you said…”

“I know what I said!” Harry huffs, the tail end of his anger fading away because Niall’s giving him this look where his eyebrows are turned down in confusion and his mouth is curved into an adorable pout and even if he weren’t as far gone for him as Harry is, there’s no way to stay mad at a sad Niall. 

Niall seems to sense the turn in Harry’s mood, his fingers reaching up to brush along the taller boy’s jawline, his touch light. “Then why can’t I?” 

And Harry recognizes that this would be a perfect time to actually use his words, to articulate his feelings in a clear and concise way that lets Niall know how he feels for him and that he wants to be the only one Niall kisses.

Except he’s Harry and words have never exactly come easy – not when they count, anyway – so he doesn’t do that at all. 

Instead, Harry yanks Niall closer, their bodies lining up and pressed tightly together, Niall’s surprised yelp muffled against Harry’s lips. This is nothing like before – this kiss is all heat and pressure and Harry’s heart just about beats out of his chest as he tries to coax Niall into participating. 

Harry presses harder, insistent, waiting for Niall to take the hint and kiss him back. It seems to take a while for Niall to even realize what’s going on and Harry’s just beginning to worry that maybe Niall really _doesn’t_ know what kissing actually is when Niall finally seems to decide to join in and yeah, wow, okay, that’s great. 

Niall’s lips are malleable and responsive, following Harry’s lead and mirroring his actions. It’s obvious that Niall doesn’t know what he’s doing (understandable, considering he’s only had a human body for just about two months now), but any skill he might be lacking he makes up for with pleasant little sounds and exploratory hands. 

Harry’s got one hand firmly gripped onto Niall’s hip, the other curved over his neck, his thumb stroking languidly along the boy’s jaw. Niall’s fingers have found their way up into Harry’s hair and Harry wishes that he’d do that all the time – it feels amazing. He tries to convey his delight by pressing more into Niall’s space, pushing and pulling until Niall’s arching against him, his head tilted back to meet Harry’s lips. 

And while this isn’t exactly how Harry had wanted their first _real_ kiss to go, he’ll take this. He’ll _totally_ take this. 

Harry feels Niall sigh, a fluttery breath against his lips, and takes that as a sign that this is good, that Niall likes this, that he can keep going. He swipes his tongue across the seam of Niall’s mouth in warning before sinking his teeth into the blonde’s plush bottom lip. 

Niall pulls back with a startled yelp, his fingers running across his bitten lip. “You bit me,” he accuses, his brow drawing down into the cutest look of consternation Harry’s ever seen. 

Harry can’t help but laugh, his chuckle a deep vibration in his chest that seems to pass from him to Niall who has stopped pouting and is smiling instead, his lips kiss-swollen and his nose brushing against Harry’s as a few snickers escape him as well. 

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, fingers gripping Niall tight. He doesn’t want to step out of this moment. He loves this moment. This moment is good. He’d live in this moment forever if he could. 

“Was that a proper kiss?” Niall’s looking at him through his lashes, his hands sliding down Harry’s arms, his fingers twining with Harry’s own. Harry’s heart does all kinds of acrobatics as he tries to think of something clever or witty to say. 

He ends up stuttering out something like _“Well, yeah, if you like,”_ which is nowhere near the realm of clever or witty and leaves a rather noticeable blush staining his cheeks. 

“I quite like proper kisses,” Niall says, more to himself than anything, and Harry gets a sudden flash of worry that maybe he’s thinking of trying a proper kiss with Zayn or Liam or Louis and that just won’t do at all. 

“They’re very special, you know, proper kisses,” Harry starts, nodding like he knows what he’s talking about. Niall looks intrigued, anyway. 

“How so?” he asks.

“Well, they’re a bit like magic,” he starts, because of course the _alien_ will believe him if he says that kisses are made of _magic_. “You’re only allowed to share them with one person or something very bad will happen. In fact,” he rambles, “I’m fairly certain that applies to all other kisses as well. Yup, you’re only allowed to kiss one person,” he says and, Christ, why is this his life? 

Niall, for his part, looks a bit amazed by this new information. “So, I’m not allowed to kiss anyone else?”

“No, no one else,” Harry says, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. He thinks vaguely that if any of the other lads were to hear him now they’d have mocking material for the next century. 

There’s a moment of silence where Harry thinks that maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Maybe Niall just _doesn’t want to_ kiss only him. But then Niall beams and presses up on his toes to kiss Harry again – a light and lingering kiss that makes Harry’s heart flutter in his chest – and whispers a quiet “alright” against his lips. 

They stay like that for a bit longer until Niall’s stomach growls so loud that the blonde actually blushes, a sheepish smile curving his lips. They head back to the common room where Niall devours the pizza and joins Zayn in his rather intense game of Dynasty Warriors (damn you, Lu Bu).

Zayn gives them a look that reads _everything alright?_ and Harry just nods, grabbing a slice himself and settling back into the couch. Zayn accepts that with a shrug and the night quickly settles back into the usual amount of friendly banter and jokes that they’ve all become accustomed to. 

Overall, Harry would have to say that it’s been a pretty fucking fantastic night.

(It gets even better when Louis gets home later and makes a bit of a scene when Niall refuses to kiss him hello. It takes him a while to finally relent and join them on the couch. However, based on the sly looks Louis keeps sending him, Harry would guess that Zayn had shared what had led to the new ‘Niall only kisses Harry’ chapter of their lives.

And, well, that’s a bit embarrassing if the flush on his cheeks has anything to say about it).

\--x--

It isn’t often that Harry actually sits down to a meal with Cher. Usually this is due to Cher having a resounding social life that involves large groups and raucous meals while Harry prefers small groups and enough elbow room to actually use his fork. So he’s surprised when Cher calls him up after class and invites him and Zayn (“I haven’t seen pretty boy in ages, drag him along.”) to lunch. 

He accepts – a little confused but free nonetheless since Niall had decided to stay home with Louis all day who’s bunking off school in favor of one-hundred-percenting a new game on the Xbox – and calls up Zayn. 

They meet in a quaint café that Harry’s never been to and has one too many doilies for his taste. Cher offers them a grin and a biscuit and Harry can tell by the tilt of her head that this isn’t going to be the relaxing lunch he’d hoped. 

“Hey, boys,” she greets. Harry and Zayn say hello back as they take their seats. Zayn immediately begins scanning the rather limited menu but Harry isn’t even able to pick his up before Cher’s rounding on him. “So, Haz, I hear you and your boy toy are getting all kinds of comfortable.” 

Harry immediately throws a glare at Zayn who deadpans a look right back and says, “Really, you think it was me?” And yeah, alright, probably not Harry’s best first guess. “Try someone with a bit more blabber and a lot more ass,” Zayn prompts. 

Harry sighs. “What did Louis tell you?” he asks Cher, who hasn’t stopped grinning this entire time. 

“I’ll spare you the embarrassment and leave out all the gory details” (Harry has no idea what those could even possibly be since there really aren’t any – a few kisses and inordinate amounts of cuddles certainly don’t count) “but it sounds like you and Blondie are quite the smitten couple.” 

“We’re not…we’re not a couple.” Which is technically true. There hasn’t been any talk of actually being in a relationship. Harry tells himself that’s because Niall probably doesn’t understand the intricacies of being in a serious, romantic relationship, but knows it has more to do with his own cowardice than anything.

“They’re totally a couple,” Zayn quips, flagging the waitress down to order. Harry shoots him another glare that this time is actually deserved. It does just as much good as it did the last time. “You should see them, it’s sickening.” 

“Shut up, Zayn,” Harry grumbles, his long fingers playing with his silverware. He totally _does not_ squawk when Zayn throws an arm over his shoulder to pull him into a hug, a grin stretched across his tan face. 

“It’s not so bad, mate. Niall’s a great kid, if not a little odd.”

“I wanna meet him!” Cher exclaims, much to the annoyance of the other patrons and Harry’s embarrassment. 

Harry shoves Zayn off, frowning as the other boy chuckles, and turns to her. “You already met him.”

“No, no,” Cher waves him off, “I mean as your boyfriend. I was barely able get a word out of the boy last time. He was much too busy making moony faces at you.” Zayn’s snickering again and Harry doesn’t hold back when he cuffs him upside the head. 

The waitress makes her way over and Harry doesn’t think anyone’s even paying attention when he mumbles a solemn “He’s not my boyfriend” under his breath. 

They just finish giving their orders (Harry hadn’t even had the time to look at the menu and had just pointed to something at random) when Harry’s phone goes off. He pulls it out and Cher gives him a look like it’s rude to answer his phone at the table but Harry ignores her because she can’t go fifteen minutes without checking Twitter. 

“Hello?” Harry’s turned to the side, ducking his head and doing his best to ignore Cher and Zayn as they talk over him. 

“Harry?” comes a bit of a panicked reply, “it’s Louis.” 

“I know,” Harry says slowly, “I have caller ID.” 

“Right,” Louis says, but he sounds distracted. There’s some banging going on in the background and Harry strains to hear it. “Right, right, _right_.” Louis is mumbling now. That’s never a good sign. 

“What’s going on?” Harry asks, concerned. He’s usually the first one Louis calls when there’s a problem. Whether it be something with his family or just that the cable’s gone out, he’s used to these. “Louis?” 

“It’s just – shit.” There’s more banging and Harry’s pretty sure Louis puts the phone down because everything goes a bit muffled for a minute. “Listen, Harry, don’t freak out,” that’s never a good start, “but Niall’s kinda hurt.”

“What? What happened to Niall?” Harry asks, panic flaring in his chest, but Louis talks right over him. 

“Like, I mean, you know, he’s alright – not passed out, at least – but there’s quite a bit of blood. The kitchen’s a bit of a disaster,” he pauses like he’s trying for a laugh but gives up halfway. “Either way, I’m pretty much completely sure he’s gonna need stiches so I’m taking him to the ER. I just wanted to tell you.” 

Harry’s first reaction is to respond with a hurried “I’ll meet you there”, however, his second reaction is dread because Niall isn’t a real person and going to a place where he’ll be poked and prodded and questioned probably isn’t a good idea. 

“No, Lou, wait!” he all but yells and he can feel the weight of his friend’s – along with quite a few other people’s – gazes on him. “Don’t – don’t take him anywhere.”

“What?” Louis asks, and he sounds a little out of breath. Harry can hear him talking to Niall in hushed whispers. “Wait, whaddya mean _don’t take him anywhere?_ The kid’s a fucking faucet.” 

“Just –” Harry scrubs a hand through his hair, frustrated because what’s he supposed to say? _Don’t take him because if they figure out what he is, he’ll be taken as the newest government plaything?_ Then Louis would want to get a doctor to look at Harry too. “Just wait, okay? Please? I’m on my way back right now.” 

“Harry –”

_“Please.”_ He’s already gathering his things. Cher’s watching him, concern in every curve of her face. He can barely even hear her questioning him, let alone process what she’s actually saying. 

“ _Fine._ But hurry it up, Styles.” With that, Louis clicks off. Harry shoots out of his seat and is already out the door when he notices Zayn running after him. 

“Harry, what happened?” he asks, catching up when Harry has to stop at a crosswalk for traffic to go past, which is ridiculous. _Can’t the world see he’s in a hurry?_

“Niall’s hurt,” he rambles, trying to dart through the cars but only getting a chorus of angry honks instead. “Louis says there’s _blood_ and he wants to take him to the hospital and I don’t –” He stops, abruptly, and swivels to Zayn, looking at him like he’s only just realized he’s there. And Christ, Zayn’s pre-med. Surely he knows the basics of stitching a wound? That’s a thing he’s learned, right? It’ll have to do. He reaches out suddenly, grasping at Zayn’s wrist who’s looking at him like he’s getting crazier with every second (a total and complete possibility. He’s doubted his sanity since Niall first showed up). “I need you to come with me.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Zayn says, like it was never an option for him not to. “Where? The hospital?” 

“No,” Harry rushes, hoping his eyes don’t look as far out of his head as they feel. “The flat.” 

Luckily, Zayn isn’t like Louis and doesn’t ask questions. “Come on, it’ll take forever to get back on foot.” He takes Harry by the elbow and steps into the street, waving down a passing taxi. He shoves Harry into the backseat before climbing in himself. 

Harry doesn’t pay too much attention to the actual ride, instead watching as the minutes – one, two, five, ten – tick passed. Considering that he hasn’t bothered to look out the window once since they got in, he’s a little surprised when he finds his feet already pounding up the stairs of their building. 

His entrance is more clumsy than dramatic – he trips over his own feet as he shoulders the door open – but he honestly couldn’t care less. “Louis?” he calls, voice a bit higher pitched than usual. 

“In here!” Louis’ voice sounds from the kitchen and _holy shit_ , Louis wasn’t exaggerating. There’s blood splashed all over the place. The sink is coated in it, small pools have collected on the counters, and there’re drops all over the floor. It’s obvious Louis tried to clean up some of it – there are dirtied hand-towels pushed off to the side of the room and smears running up the cupboards and swirled onto the floor. “Christ, it took you bloody long enough,” Louis huffs, jumping up from the ground – he’s shaky on his feet. “Are you done being a freak? Can we go now? He’s not looking so great.” He shifts, hands gesturing to Niall, and Harry feels a whole new wave of panic descend now that he’s actually seen him. 

Niall’s paler than usual, his body curled in on itself. He looks small, his breathing shallow and his eyes wide. It’s obvious that he’s scared, though his silence is more of an indicator than anything. There’s a large, red stain on his jumper – one that he’d nicked out of Liam’s room this morning – that has Harry’s heart jumping into his throat. He’s on his knees in seconds, hands roaming everywhere, touching everything he can. 

“Ni? Hey,” Harry cradles the boy’s face, bending so he’s all Niall can see. “Hey, Ni, what happened? Where are you hurt? Show me.” Niall sniffles and shakes his head, his eyebrows lowering in anxiety. 

“For god’s sake, Harry, stop asking him questions and help me stand him up, we need to get him to a doctor.” Louis moves to grab Niall under the arms, but stops when Harry blocks him with his own body. 

“No, we can’t – he just… I don’t – Zayn!” Harry yells, finally noticing the Bradford boy near the doorway. His brown eyes are wide as he takes in the scene but he rushes over as soon as Harry calls for him. “Can you…?” He doesn’t actually say the words, doesn’t think he can stomach it, honestly – he’s never been good with blood, it’s a wonder he hasn’t thrown up yet. 

Like the saint he is, Zayn doesn’t need words to understand. He nods, shifting so he’s kneeling in front of Niall. “Niall,” he starts and his voice is much calmer than Harry’s, more soothing, “we need to see where you’re hurt.” Niall shakes his head again, eyes closed and his lips mashed into a thin line. “Niall,” Zayn repeats, stern. Niall’s big blue eyes look up, flickering between all of them before he shifts and holds out his arm. There’s a cut running from his palm and up toward his elbow. Harry can’t see the extent of it through the globs of blood but it doesn’t look good. 

Niall sniffs, tears pooling in his eyes and Harry’s quick to brush his thumbs over the hollow of Niall’s eyes, cooing, “Hey, it’s gonna be fine. Zayn’s gonna fix you up, okay?” 

Zayn only takes a second to examine the wound before directing them in a calm, cool tone. “Louis, go get the first aid kit. Harry, get some water and a towel.” They both dart off. Harry’s back in no time, a bowl of warm water (Zayn hadn’t said to make it warm, but that’s what they always do in the movies) in hand and a whole bundle of towels thrown over his shoulder. 

Zayn goes to work diligently, mindful of every flinch and whine that comes from Niall. He starts near Niall’s elbow and works his way down to his hand. It’s nearly all clean by the time Louis comes bumbling back in. 

The wound isn’t as awful as Harry had first thought. More of a cut than a gash, and not nearly as deep as he would have assumed from all the blood. Zayn seems to think the same thing as he ignores the small needle and thread in the kit and instead pulls out some disinfectant and gauze. 

“It’s not so bad,” Zayn assures, glancing momentarily to Niall’s eyes, which are still wide, pupils dilated. “You don’t need stitches, at least.” 

“What?” Louis shoves forward, nearly bowling Harry over. “How’s that possible? I swear the kid nearly hacked his own arm off. It was gushing not fifteen minutes ago.” 

“I don’t know,” Zayn shakes his head, shoulders hunched as he works. Niall squirms as he rubs the antiseptic over his arm, wincing at the sting. “But it’s not that deep. It’s not even bleeding anymore.” 

Louis doesn’t seem to know what to say to that and eventually settles on huffing to himself and cleaning up the rest of the kitchen. Harry’s glad that Louis’ up to the task because the curly haired boy’s not sure if he could do it without being sick on the floor.

“You should probably take him to your room,” Zayn suggests as he finishes with the bandage. Niall’s breathing has evened out and he’s not as pale as before, but he’s still eerily quiet and withdrawn. Zayn lowers his voice so only Harry can hear. “He’s still pretty shaken up. You should stay with him for a while.” 

Harry’s quick to get on his feet, bending to help Niall up. “Come on, Ni, let’s go lie down for a bit.” Harry pulls him up easily, Niall’s body pliant under his ministrations now that he’s calmed down some.

He carries Niall more than anything, helping him to the room where he shuts the door and cuts off Louis’ mumbled rant coming from the kitchen. Harry helps him out of his shirt, careful of his arm, before Niall retreats to the bed and curls up near the headrest.

“Hey,” Harry murmurs, crawling onto the bed beside Niall and pulling his fingers through blonde hair. “You gonna tell me what happened?” 

Niall frowns, but nods, burrowing into Harry’s side and under his arm. Harry pecks him on the nose and is glad to see the action bring a little color to Niall’s cheeks. 

“I wanted to make dinner for when you got back,” he admits, voice soft. “Louis said he’d help and you’ve never really let me cook before so I just copied Louis and - well, I guess I didn’t do a very good job.” 

Harry sighs. Knowing the story, it’s a wonder Niall hadn’t actually taken his arm off like Louis had claimed. Honestly, Louis has a reckless abandon when it comes to using knives in the kitchen (“I swear guys, a knife has never cut me before. They’re like my _best buddies._ ”) and Niall would have been better juggling them than trying to imitate the Doncaster boy. 

“What have I told you? Don’t ever learn anything from Louis. He’s always wrong.” Harry counts it as a win that this earns a chuckle from the mopey alien. 

“I was bleeding,” he says, peeking up at Harry, his face nearly lost amongst the covers. “That’s the word Louis used.”

“Yeah, you bled quite a bit for how shallow your cut actually is.” Harry casts a critical eye on the bandage, as though trying to inspect it once more. 

There’s a long pause before, “I used my magic to make it stop.” 

“What?” Harry shifts, trying to get a better angle to see where Niall’s looking up at him, sheepish and timid. 

“I used my magic to make the bleeding stop. Louis really didn’t seem to like it.” His voice is quite, “I didn’t like it very much either.” He taps his fingers against the bandage, wincing when he hits too hard. “It really hurt. I didn’t expect it to hurt.” 

Harry flicks him softly on the nose, chuckling when Niall pouts up at him. “Of course it hurt, ya Martian. That’s why it’s called getting hurt.” 

“Well,” Niall huffs, burrowing deep into the bed, his voice muffled, “I didn’t like it.” 

“Good,” Harry says, sliding low under the covers as well, “because I didn’t like you getting hurt either.” 

Niall considers him a moment, dusty lashes blinking through thoughts that Harry assumes could go on for galaxies before leaning in and pressing his mouth to Harry’s. 

They stay hidden away under the covers for the rest of the night. 

\--x--

Harry bans Niall from the kitchen without supervision (and _no_ , Louis doesn’t count). This rule has little to no effect considering that he barely leaves the blonde’s side for the next week or so. 

He takes Niall with him everywhere, keeping a watchful eye and making sure he doesn’t hurt himself again. It’s a bit worrying how overprotective he’s being, but Niall’s an alien. Niall is an alien who didn’t know it’d hurt if he got cut. That just screams _make sure I don’t accidentally kill myself._

So Harry gets a bit more fussy and, yeah, his friends totally take the piss for it, but it’s worth it when Niall curls up in his bed each night completely intact. 

The cut heals faster than it really should (magic, Harry supposes, since Niall doesn’t say and he doesn’t ask), but it’s slow enough that it doesn’t raise any questions. Niall’s so happy when Zayn tells him he can take it off that he spends the entire day bouncing around the apartment, playing games and drinking soda and mucking about, and the entire night showing Harry a galaxy made entirely of crystal and a thousand different shades of blue light. 

Two days after the bandages come off, Harry and Niall settle in for a movie night, the bed a comfortable nest of pillows.

It’s only just past sunset when Harry walks back into his room with a bowl of crisps. He and Niall have been slowly working through _Supernatural_ (it’s pretty fitting, he thinks) and tonight he’s thinking they’ll finally make it through season two. Niall, however, in the short time Harry had left the room, has curled up under the covers, his skin softly aglow, his eyes drooping closed, and his breath streaming out slow between his lips. 

“Are you going to sleep?” Harry asks, sitting cross-legged against his headboard, bowl cradled in his lap. “I thought we were gonna finish season two. I brought crisps. Barbeque flavor.”

Niall blinks his eyes open, scooting over enough to snag some from the bowl. Of course. 

“I’m just a little sleepy. Put it on, I’ll watch.” He waves Harry on who shrugs, sets the bowl between them, and presses play. Niall falls asleep ten minutes into the first episode and Harry is a bit surprised. 

He pauses the show, contemplating waking Niall up (it’s only just gotten dark outside, after all. Much too early to be sleeping) but decides not to and pulls out a book instead. He really has gotten behind on his reading. 

\--x--

This behavior continues for the next week – Niall falling asleep much earlier than usual, his whispered assurances that he’s just resting his eyes never quite believable – and Harry can’t deny that it’s worrying him. 

At first he thinks that maybe Niall is just sick, but convinces himself that that can’t be the case since he hasn’t been showing any of the normal symptoms of a sick person. The blonde doesn’t seem to have lost his appetite – he’s been eating even more than he was before, if that’s even possible – and he seems healthy and happy enough during the day when the sun is still up. 

But then Harry remembers that he knows nothing about alien illnesses and begins worrying all over again. 

He tries asking Niall as casually as he can but is never given any real answers. Often times Niall will brush the question off or spout off some spacy excuse that Harry accepts because he feels awkward and useless (“The reflections off of Saturn just make me tired. It’s a personal problem.”). It also doesn’t help that sometimes – not a lot of the time, but sometimes – Niall will distract him with his lips. 

So Harry is left to worry. It’s quite bothersome, actually. 

“Have you noticed anything odd about Niall?” Harry asks, peeking up at Zayn from over the cup of tea that he’s been nursing for a good hour. He made it in an attempt to stop thinking about Niall but that attempt seems to have worked out even worse than his attempts to deny his feelings for the blonde in the first place. 

“You mean other than Niall in general?” Zayn asks. He’s got a whole array of books spread out in front of him. It’s actually an odd sight for Harry. Despite Zayn being a pre-med student, Harry’s not used to seeing him study. 

“Yes, other than that.” 

“Well,” Zayn tilts his head, his brows lowering in thought, “he has been a lot less energetic than he was.” He marks his page and closes his book, stealing some grapes from the forgotten plate at Harry’s elbow. “He’s been sleeping a lot more too. Passed out on the couch the other day at lunch time.” 

“Do you think he’s sick or something?” Harry asks, disliking the slightly panicked edge to his voice. He takes a sip of his now cold tea to try and swallow down the worry clogging his throat. 

Zayn shrugs, one tanned hand rising to scratch absently at his neck. Harry can tell that he’s concerned as well, even if he’s not saying it. “It could just be the weather. Cold days like these make me sleepy. Maybe they do for him too.” 

Harry shakes his head, a small chuckle making it into his voice. “You’d sleep all year round if you could.” Zayn shrugs again because he knows it’s true. A comfortable silence stretches between them as Zayn goes back to his books and Harry listens to the rain patter against the window. He stares unseeingly into his tea as his mind drifts back to Niall – as it is wont to do whenever it can – and whether or not he and Liam took an umbrella when they left to go grocery shopping. (Considering that it’s Liam he left with, he’s sure they did). 

“I just don’t want something to be wrong,” Harry admits, not even bothering to pretend to care less than he does. He’s pretty sure Zayn already knows how very much he cares. 

“Have you tried asking him?” Zayn asks, writing a couple notes before glancing up at his friend. 

“He says he’s fine.” 

“Then maybe he is.”

Harry really hopes so. 

\--x--

Finals are only a couple weeks away and Harry knows he should be studying, but the pub down the street from their flat is hosting its semiannual Quiz Bowl and Louis’s had them all signed up for months. Their names were on the list even before Niall had arrived (who has since been added to their team despite Harry’s belief that it’s a horrible idea – Liam had looked at the blonde like he had two heads for hours after Niall had said he doesn’t know who Justin Bieber is – and would draw unwanted attention).

Harry’s doing his best to pay attention (he’s their clincher when the lit category comes up), but he can’t seem to break his rather annoying cycle of watching Niall from the corner of his eye, catching himself being a worried creeper, and glaring determinedly at the table instead. 

Niall still hasn’t told him what’s wrong. 

The blonde who had, surprisingly and yet totally unsurprisingly, already earned them a good ten points with his knowledge of ancient Greece, seems to be doing alright at the moment. He’s smiling, his eyes bright with laughter as he munches down on a tray of wings they had ordered (it had been for the whole table but that had been nothing but a pipe dream and Liam should have known better). 

Harry isn’t entirely surprised by Niall’s good mood. He is a bit wary of it, however. Niall seems to have good days and bad day; most of the good days consist of him skipping around and laughing and just being generally obnoxious (or endearing, depending how you look at it) while the bad days leave him lying in bed for hours at a time, drifting in and out of sleep and only zombie-ing his way out of the room long enough to make himself monster burritos. 

Then, of course, there are the days where he’ll be running around one minute and passing out on the couch the next. It’s those days that worry Harry the most. 

Probably because, despite his vast amount of pessimism, it’s those days that still catch him by surprise. 

The boys are all huddled around a table, a white board and dry erase marker clutched firmly in Louis’ hands as they bend their heads together, a hushed debate beginning over some pop culture reference that Harry isn’t paying any attention to. 

“I can only remember four, are there more than four?” Louis hisses, keeping his voice down so the table next to them can’t overhear. 

“They have twins, don’t they?” Zayn asks, eyes already a little droopy from the alcohol. “And they definitely adopted more than two.” 

“I think they adopted three?” Liam tries, fuzzy brows scrunching in confusion. 

“So, at least five. Do they only have five?” Louis huffs, blue eyes flicking up to the large timer over the bar. He glances around the table, “Blondie?” Niall shakes his head, looking rather lost, (the poor kid doesn’t even know who Brad and Angelina are) and Louis turns to Harry. “Haz, any opinions?” 

Harry shrugs and shakes his head, more focused on how Niall’s nearly shoved into his side than the actual conversation (it’s a small table and he’d much rather be pressed up close to Niall than get one of Louis’ rouge elbows jabbed into his neck).

“Six!” Zayn says, smacking the table. Liam motions for him to keep it down. “They definitely have six kids!” 

“You sure?” Louis asks, serious. Louis hates to lose. Zayn nods with confidence and Louis scribbles it onto the board. 

The timer goes off and Louis holds their board up, a large, loopy number six aimed at the bar. 

“The correct answer is,” the quizmaster says, pausing for effect (Harry rolls his eyes because he’s been doing that for every question and honestly it’s starting to get a bit boring), “six!” 

Louis woops, thrusting a victory fist into the air and leaning over to smack a loud, sloppy kiss onto Zayn’s cheek. He’s still telling the tan boy how brilliant he is when they’re dismissed for half time. 

“Alright, lads,” Louis starts, voice raised to be heard over the crowd as people order food and drinks, “we’re only five points behind those snooty guys at table three and two points behind El and Cher’s group.” He takes a moment to glance over at the girls where they’re nestled into a booth in the back. He grins when Eleanor catches his eye and gives him a flirtatious wave. 

“Fraternizing with the enemy, Lou?” Liam teases. The usually reserved boy has actually made his way through an order of rum and Coke and it’s starting to show. Liam’s always been a lightweight. 

“Keep your enemies close and whatnot,” Louis says, still making horrible kissy faces across the room. Harry can _feel_ their cute. _Ugh_. Louis snaps back around, a finger pointed sharply at each of them. “Remember, we’re here to win. Keep your eyes on the prize.” He snatches the drink right from Zayn’s hand. “That means no more drinking for you, Malik. We don’t need you passing out on us.” He takes a swig and talks over Zayn’s protests. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He winks and walks off, Zayn’s drink in hand. 

“Well,” Zayn sighs, “looks like I’m getting another drink.” He slides out of his chair, pausing to eye Niall’s empty plate. “Ni, come with. We’ll get you some nachos or something.” 

“Thanks, Zayn,” Niall chirps, bouncing out of his seat and following the other boy through the crowds. Harry watches them go, his chin rested on his palm and his shoulders drooping. 

Spending his days worrying about Niall has exhausted him in ways that he didn’t even know were possible. Honestly, he feels like a fretting mother. (Which is ridiculous because he’s twenty years old and a boy and Niall isn’t a child that he has to worry over and it’s dumb that he does it anyway). 

“Hey,” Liam prods him in the arm, leaning over the table to look him in the eye, “what’s with the face?”

Harry tears his eyes away from where he’s watching Niall by the bar to quirk a brow at Liam. “What face?” 

“The one that says that somebody died.” Liam’s smile is a bit dopey – like he doesn’t really know it’s there – but his eyes are serious, concerned. And wow, Harry’s really beginning to worry about the number of mother hens in their group. “What’s wrong?” 

“It’s nothing, Li.” Harry takes a long pull from his drink, doing his best to not turn his eyes back to Niall and failing. 

Liam turns, following his line of sight. His lips form an ‘o’ of understanding that Harry _really doesn’t like._ “I don’t mean to pry,” he says, though his face makes it abundantly clear that that’s exactly what he means to do, “but is everything alright with you two?” 

“Everything’s fine,” Harry says with as much conviction as he can muster. He slides his half full drink over to Liam in hopes that he can get the older boy drunk enough to stop being so nosey. Liam downs it in one go and, sadly, is just as interested as he was before.

“I’m not an idiot, Harry. I see the way you look at him.” He tilts his head, his resemblance to a lost puppy uncanny. “You look…sad. Did something happen?” 

Harry shrugs, fingers playing with the edge of the table, uncomfortable because _feelings._

Liam huffs. “Well, whatever it is, you should talk to him about it.” 

Harry gives Liam a _look_ that would have sober Liam apologizing but seems to have no effect on drunk Liam. _Great_. “I’ve tried talking to him. Apparently he doesn’t want to talk about it.” 

“Did you actually talk or did you just do that thing you do where you mention things in passing because you don’t want to _really_ talk because emotions – especially your own – make you itchy?” Harry’s face must be answer enough because Liam doesn’t bother to wait for an actual verbal confirmation. “You gotta tell him how you feel, mate. Niall’s not a mind reader.” 

Harry misses sober Liam. Sober Liam would never call him on his shit. Sober Liam was much better at beating around the bush and not making Harry feel like a total prat. 

“I know.” The words slip past tight lips, muttered and mumbled, as he stares hard at the table. 

Liam nods, eyebrows furrowed deep and lips pressed into a hard, serious line. “Then just do it.”

Zayn and Niall come back to the table not long after that. Zayn’s even more sleepy eyed than before which means he must have thrown back a glass or two while they were waiting on Niall’s food. He’s got both arms draped over Niall, the blonde boy carrying most of his weight – not that Niall minds; he seems more concerned that he might drop his nachos than about dropping Zayn – as they make their way back. 

Niall slides back into his place pressed up against Harry. Harry’s lips are parted, green eyes turned to the blonde – some combination of _are you okay?_ and _just fucking tell me!_ ready to spill out. He doesn’t say anything though, just shakes his head when Niall turns to him and asks if he’d like a crisp. 

_God_ , he feels like such a loser.

“You know what sounds awesome?” Liam says loudly, catching everyone’s attention. “Ice cream.” 

“We’re getting ice cream?” Niall asks, interest piqued. Harry thinks ice cream and nachos sounds like a horrible combination, but isn’t surprised that this doesn’t bother Niall one bit.

“Ooh, yes, let’s.” Zayn smiles, lifting his head from where it had fallen against the table. “I want the minty kind.” 

“Great,” Liam smiles. “Harry, go get us some ice cream. There’s a shop just down the road.” 

Harry’s nose scrunches. It’s wet and cold outside. “What? Get it yourself.” 

Liam appears to not have heard him. “Niall, go help Harry get ice cream.” He reaches into his pocket. “I’ll even pay for it.” He slaps his wallet into Harry’s palm, giving him a look that reads less _try not to order the most expensive thing_ and more _talk to your boyfriend properly or so help me I’ll punch you in the throat._ Harry grumbles but stands up to put his coat on.

Sober Liam would never threaten to punch him in the throat – even if it was only through subtext. 

Niall asks Zayn to guard his food before bouncing to Harry’s side, slim fingers working to do up the buttons on his maroon coat (it’s Louis’ and Harry think it really looks great on Niall). 

They step out to the street, snow crunching under their feet and the late afternoon sun hazy in the sky. Niall tucks in close, his shoulder brushing against Harry almost constantly as he talks – he’s entirely fascinated with how much he’s learned from the quiz game – his hands gesturing in swift movements. 

They reach the shop in no time and Harry still hasn’t said anything, choosing to instead let Niall do all the talking. The ice cream place is really just a tiny little shop that doesn’t even have an inside, just a little window with a list of their flavors written out on a chalkboard to the side. Harry orders (cups of mint chip for Zayn, strawberry cheesecake for Liam, some kind of double extra chocolate monstrosity for Louis, a banana nut swirl for himself, and a triple scoop cone of some pistachio orange ridiculousness for Niall that the blonde insists looks amazing) and stands aside, stepping out of the way of other customers and leaning against the building by Niall. 

Niall’s eating beside him, tongue darting out contently. There are snowflakes landing on his nose and, _well_ , at least his ice cream won’t melt. 

Harry doesn’t realize he’s staring until Niall’s tugging at his sleeve. “Harry,” he gestures to the pick up window with his cone, “the ice cream’s ready.” 

Harry ducks his head and picks up his order with a quick ‘thanks’. With the bag dangling from his wrist, they start the walk back to the pub and Harry knows it’s now or never. He steels himself, reminding himself how worried he’s been and how nothing can be worse than _not knowing_.

“Niall,” Harry cuts in, interrupting Niall’s in-depth analysis of the mating habits of the platypus (a subject that Zayn had known much too much about).

Niall looks at him, curiosity lighting his blue eyes. “Yeah?” 

Harry tires not to think too much, just pushes the words out. “You’re not okay, are you?” 

There’s the smallest flicker of a frown on Niall’s lips that he hides behind his ice cream, eyes drifting from Harry to the path in front of them. “It’s nothing, I’m fine.” 

Harry stops, his hand darting out to pull Niall to a stop as well. He spins the boy around, doing his best to look serious and caring and not quite as desperate as he feels. “Just tell me.” 

“It’s nothing you need to worry about, Harry. I promise.” But Niall won’t quite meet his eyes and that’s _really_ not helping.

“Except I do!” Harry yells, startling the blonde and himself. He glances around quickly, self-conscious as people eye them oddly on the street. He shuffles them until they’re tucked against the side of a building. He tries to keep his voice down as he speaks. “I worry all the time. Every day. I mean – Christ, Ni – there are days when you can’t even get out of bed. I know you’re not exactly _normal_ but that can’t be good.” Harry’s heart is thrashing against his ribs, his cheeks flushed and his fingers shaking where they’re twisting together. He forces himself to look Niall in the eye. “It feels like I’m losing you…And I really, _really_ , don’t want that.”

He’s only half surprised when Niall throws his arms around him in a bruising hug. “I’m sorry,” Niall mumbles into Harry’s neck, his cold nose pressed into the hollow of Harry’s throat. He pulls back just enough to blink up through dusty lashes. They’re still pressed close and Harry doesn’t hesitate to grip onto the blonde’s hips to keep it that way. “I didn’t know it would worry you so much.”

“Well, it does,” Harry gruffs, cheeks flushed, embarrassed. 

Niall brings his hands around to rest on Harry’s chest, one fiddling with the buttons there in a comfortably familiar gesture and the other still clutched onto his ice cream cone (of course). The corners of his lips slip into a faint smile and his eyes are soft as he addresses Harry. “I didn’t tell you because there’s nothing you can do about it and I didn’t want you to worry.” Harry scoffs and Niall’s smile turns guilty. “Clearly that was a bad decision.” 

“Just tell me, Ni,” Harry breathes, leaning so their foreheads are pressed together, his fingers wrapping around the nape of Niall’s neck. It’s an intimate gesture that feels a lot more daring outside the privacy of his bedroom. “Fuck, I’m starting to think you’re dying or something.” It had been a thought in his head – one he wasn’t willing to dwell on. 

Niall laughs and it makes Harry feel better because Niall might be a weirdo Martian boy, but even he’s not going to laugh at his own death. “I’m not dying.” 

“Promise?” Harry asks, nudging their noses together and yeah, he might sound casual, but he really needs Niall to promise, like, _right now._

Niall nods, a laugh bubbling past his lips that manages to bring a smile to Harry’s face as well. “Promise.”

“Then what is it?” Harry pulls back, mindful that his fingers might be gripping onto Niall’s sides a little too hard, but not caring enough to actually let him go. Not until he has a real answer. 

Niall presses his palm flat against Harry’s chest. “I think… when I healed myself before, it set something off. I’m burning through energy a lot faster than I should be,” he admits quietly. His eyebrows scrunch together as he speaks. “My core is running a lot hotter than it originally was and this form can’t keep up with it.” 

When Niall doesn’t say anything else, Harry can’t help the little disbelieving laugh. Never in his life did he think he’d have this conversation with anyone (which is understandable – how was he supposed to know shooting star aliens were a thing?). “Try that again, but leave out the alien speak?” 

Niall huffs out a laugh, bopping his ice cream against Harry’s nose (which is kinda gross because it’s got Niall spit, like, all over it) and giving him a small smile. “Basically, eventually, this body is going to burn out. Sleeping and eating more helps to maintain my energy levels and repair the fission damage inside.” 

It still sounds dangerous and complicated and Harry’s not entirely sure Niall left out the alien speak like he requested, but Niall’s back to eating his ice cream so maybe it’s not so bad. “And what exactly does that mean?” Niall gives him a look like _I just told you_ so Harry rephrases. “What’s going to happen?” 

Niall hesitates, eyes focused resolutely on the cone in his hand. “I’m going to have to go home.” 

Harry’s stomach drops and _yeah, alright_ he should have seen that one coming. His voice is scratchy when he speaks, “When?” 

Niall takes a moment to answer, and when he does, he does it with his fingers entwined tightly with Harry’s own and his face hidden against Harry’s chest. “I don’t know exactly. A little more than a month? Maybe two or three?” He sounds sad like Harry feels. 

They stand like that for a while, curled in to each other and Harry isn’t sure he feels better than he did before. Which, okay, yeah, that’s not exactly true. He can breathe again, not waiting for the boy in his arms to explode in a burst of starlight or melt into a puddle of alien goop, but the resolute fact that Niall’s going to leave him sometime in the next few months hasn’t exactly brightened his day either. 

He pulls Niall closer, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, before bringing their hands to his side and starting the walk back. He breathes in deep, calming himself and settling a smile on his lips because the last thing he wants is for Niall to be sad.

“So I’m thinking we should do something.”

Niall looks at him with interest, eyes as big and blue as ever. “Like what?” 

“I don’t know. Something that makes your stay here incredibly awesome.” Harry swings their hands between them and manages to get a chuckle out of Niall (he gives himself a mental high five because that’s exactly what he was aiming for).

“It’s already pretty awesome.” Niall beams and Harry swears he’s got a whole flock of pterodactyls swarming in his stomach. “But, yeah, alright,” he laughs and presses a kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth before pushing through the pub door. 

Liam and Zayn greet them with a raucous cheer of _ice cream, ice cream_ when they retake their seats (Louis is a bit miffed that they left for so long _“There was a question on Walt Whitman, Harry!”_ but forgives them after Harry passes out the spoons). Harry ends up trying Niall’s cone and it’s just as awful as he thought it would be. Harry sticks out his tongue in disgust and, if the blonde’s smile is anything to go by, Niall’s absolutely delighted.


End file.
